


Refraction

by CES479



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Minor Character Death, Rival Relationship, Sexual Content, Slow Build, companion!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 113,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CES479/pseuds/CES479
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 9:32 Dragon, Katria Trevelyan arrives in Kirkwall and meets a young Knight-Captain Cullen. As expected, the reckless smart-ass and the stuffy, inflexible Templar clash and do not part ways amicably. </p><p>Nine years later when Katria appears in Skyhold, the Commander of the Inquisition and Inquisitor Lavellan’s new companion are still determined to hate one another. Except there’s also an undeniable attraction between them that results in a tacit agreement about sex, though they’re insistent they are not friends or in love. (They are.) </p><p>The companion!AU, rivalmance-esque story no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! Welcome to the third installment of "what the hell kind of idea is this?". This story completely reboots the romance for my Trevelyan character, so reading my other pieces is completely not required. 
> 
> The first few chapters take place in Kirkwall, in 9:32 Dragon, so in relation to DA 2, there will be bits and pieces of canon divergence. I up-ed the rating for this story to Explicit just to be safe, but all NSFW content will be marked, and won't appear till later chapters.
> 
> Feedback appreciated because someone needs to pull me from this garbage bin that is stories about my OC.

The Templar was like a well-polished beacon in a dark room.

He was red-faced and sheepish the minute he appeared—that expression did not help how sorely he stuck out in the front parlor of the Blooming Rose. He looked more stuffy than humanly possible in full-plate Templar armor, eyes darting around to the different tables, mouth a thin line, looking appalled at the other denizens in the room: Faith, half-naked, draped over some merchant, Leonato, flirting away, feeding an old wealthy dowager. 

The Templar stayed frozen at the threshold for a while, waffling between entering and leaving, like most first-timers did. Finally, with a clench of his fist, he steeled himself and strode into the room. He walked up to her at the bar, expression serious. 

Katria put down the tankard she was cleaning; she did not smile, only raised a brow. 

“Welcome to the Blooming Rose,” she said. “Most Templars don’t show up in their armor. You here for some role-play?” 

“Um…” He swallowed. “No, I’m not here for…” 

She looked down at the worn wood of the bar top. “Well, I’m sure you punish enough naughty mages at the Gallows,” she remarked, keeping her tone light. 

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

Touchy, this one was. She grinned crookedly at him. “I was only kidding, Templar.” 

He shifted, his armor clinking as he continued to stand awkwardly by the bar. “My name is Knight-Captain Cullen.” 

Katria studied him. He looked young, but was a series of contradictions. The smooth skin on his face was marred by dark circles under his eyes; his unruly, wavy hair was unkempt. 

She’d heard of him. Everyone knew who Knight-Commander Meredith was, and this Knight-Captain was recently promoted to her second-in-command, though Katria had never seen his face before. She made a point to avoid higher-ranking Templars when she visited the Gallows. 

“You don’t look old enough to be a Knight-Captain,” she said, letting her attention be drawn to another dirty tankard. 

“I am well-qualified, I can assure you,” he replied coolly. “Miss…?” 

She looked up, meeting his calculating brown eyes. “Katria. Just Katria, if you would. We _are_ in a brothel.”

He looked around, blushing less than he had been before, but he was still clearly skittish. “I am aware,” he said. 

She draped her rag over her shoulder, palms flat against the surface of the bar. “Glad to hear it. Now, I’ve enjoyed our chat, but let me get down to business so you’ll go away. Two sovereigns will get you premium service, one sovereign will get you standard, and for fifty silver, someone may touch you. Briefly.” 

The poor man actually balked, eyes trailing to the ceiling as he cleared his throat. “I am not here—interested i-in your _services_.” 

“Then if you don’t mind me asking, what in the Void are you doing here?” she asked. 

The Knight-Captain seemed more comfortable moving into a discussing about business. His shoulders settled under his heavy armor. “I am here to inquire about a group of Templar recruits that frequent this establishment.” 

Katria shook her head. “We don’t give out information about our clients.” 

“This is an urgent Templar matter that involves-,” 

She waved her hands mockingly, drawing out her words. “Bloooood magic?” 

“Well—yes.” 

She snorted. “It always involves blood magic, doesn’t it? The impetus of the Chantry’s oppression.” 

He lost his patience with a slash in his brow. He straightened, his broad chest clearer to her, and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I did not come here to discuss politics with you. I demand you acknowledge my inquiries or I will bring a formal complaint to the Kirkwall Guard.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trying to save you time, Templar.” She gestured around them. “None of these people are going to talk to you. They aren’t in the business of divulging the names of their clients.”

The door at one end of the bar flew open. A young girl crossed the threshold, holding a tray of tankards. She stopped dead upon seeing the Templar a few feet away from her, mouth slightly agape. 

Katria clenched her hand into a fist and spun around. “Clara,” she said sharply. “What have I told you about coming up here during business hours?” 

“S-Sorry, Katria,” the girl stammered in reply, terrified gaze still locked on the Templar. She hastily shoved her tray onto the bar and then scurried back through the door. 

“Porfiria,” Katria barked, and a young elven waitress jumped to attention to grab the tray. 

Thankfully, the Knight-Captain’s suspicions were not raised, and he instead tried to get her attention with an impatient grunt. “This is an important matter,” he insisted. 

Katria leaned back against the counter. “I don’t know what to tell you. We make a lot of money from nervous Templars who expect some privacy.” 

“I demand you allow me to at least speak to these…” He cleared his throat. “Young ladies.”

Katria sighed. He would go away if she said yes, right? She hung her head as she relented. “Quintus is our main bartender. He comes back in an hour. You have until then to ask questions. No _interrogations_ , for Andraste’s sake. And don’t draw attention yourself. Or talk to Madame Lusine.” 

He gave a slight bow. “Thank you.” The Templar then turned on his heel, though his posture lost some of its rigidity as he surveyed the room. Katria chuckled and began to wipe down the bar because this would provide some excellent entertainment for the afternoon. 

Knight-Captain Cullen awkwardly approached a number of the women present—none of them were receptive to him because this was a _brothel_. He peppered questions around the room, but only got indulgent smiles, rejections, or even short laughs in reply. Katria was not surprised; fully-armored Templars walking around making inquiries normally did not inspire trust. Perhaps if he’d had the foresight to step out of his armor he would have been more successful; he was handsome enough. 

Her observations of this Templar were interrupted by a loud crash from the loft above the parlor. There was a shrill scream, and Katria’s hands flew to the set of daggers hidden under the bar. 

Drunk, aggressive patrons at the Blooming Rose were unfortunately common. Men would drink far too much, then allow themselves liberties with the employees. This type of behavior usually warranted incredibly brutal retaliation—Madame Lusine did not like when her place of business was also a place with violence. 

Katria did not exactly enjoy working at a brothel. Being the bartender was tolerable—mostly she served drinks, made threats, and fended off various forms of flirtation. There was not a lot of work in Kirkwall, especially in somewhere safe like Hightown, so Katria took what she could get. She at least appreciated that Lusine was protective of her employees when they worked in this kind of business, though she did not approve of the exploitation. 

A very drunk man barreled through a door and onto the landing of the floor above them. Katria rounded the bar, spinning her daggers in her hand. She climbed up the wide, stone stairs—when she heard the clink of metal behind her, she briefly turned her head. 

The Templar was behind her, sword drawn. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded. 

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” he said, _genuinely_ , which was a little annoying because Templars were not supposed to be nice or _noble_.

She crested the stairs and an elf named Cora hurried out of the middle room, adjusting her shirt. “Are you okay?” Katria asked her. She only nodded in reply, her arms covering her stomach. 

The man who had stormed onto the landing was staggering around—Cora had screamed because he’d pulled a dagger from his boot. It was Kirkwall, so everyone was armed. Katria was not too worried; she doubted this man was trained as a duelist like she was, and most angry patrons here were all bluster. 

The man spoke. “This…” He swallowed and made sort of gagging noise. “She _promised_ …” 

Katria stepped closer to him. “I think that it’s time for you to leave.” 

She remembered serving this man, but she had not given him enough ale to warrant his red-faced sputtering. He had brought a friend with him, she remembered; they must have smuggled more liquor in. She scolded herself for not catching it, as she gestured with her dagger down the stairs. 

“I’m serious. You need to leave.” 

“I am not leaving until I get what I _paid for_. You…” He lunged at her mid-sentence because drunk people were just _stupid_. His form was clumsy, and seeing as Katria was not blood-thirsty, she did not strike the man with her weapon; instead, she stepped aside and slammed her fist directly into his face.

The contact made him stagger back, blood spurting between his fingers, as he gave an angry howl. Knight-Captain Cullen stepped forward so he was beside Katria because the man was not incapacitated—only angrier. 

The Templar sheathed his sword and stepped forward to grab the man’s arm—Katria let him because he wore a full set of armor, and she was only wearing a tunic and breeches. 

The man’s friend had stumbled half-way up the stairs, blathering about something. “You get out of here, too,” she snapped at him, as the Templar led his captive down to the main floor. 

Katria should have been more careful, but she did not care about Knight-Captain Cullen. Instead of protecting the Templar’s flank from the other man, she hung back to ensure Cora was alright, meeting her gaze to give a reassuring nod. 

Katria saw the man on the stairs pull a dagger from his belt and clumsily thrust it forward as Knight-Captain Cullen passed. 

She was half-way down the steps when it happened—the knife found the point in Knight-Captain Cullen’s armor at the hip below his breastplate, even as he tried to twist away. Katria tackled the man who stabbed him, but she was too slow. As she stumbled down the last few steps, the heavy weight of her opponent dragging her down, the Templar collapsed sideways with a strangled noise. He had yanked the knife from his side and let it clatter, slick with blood, on the stairs. 

Katria untangled herself from the drunk man, smashing his head into the stone floor for good measure, before spinning around to the Templar. He was slumped against the stairs, scrabbling at his hip, but his gauntlets were far too bulky for him to get to his wound. She knelt down beside him and pushed aside the red cloth lining the bottom of his breastplate; it was saturated with blood. 

“Oh, no,” she said, pressing her hand hard against the wound she could hardly see. “Fuck— _really_ , Templar? You’re…this is…” 

His brow was furrowed deeply from the pain, his mouth a white line. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” he choked out. 

The wound was deep. Gushing blood. It was very, very bad. Madame Lusine would not be happy a Templar died on her parlor floor. Fucking Kirkwall. 

She looked around, desperate, her dark hair falling from where it was pinned. The two drunk men had fled—staggered off because the Kirkwall Guard would not be happy with the consequences of their drunken brawl.

Knight-Captain Cullen tried to push himself up, his metal gauntlets clanging against the stone stairs. His face was pale and his breathing was becoming increasingly ragged.

“You can’t,” Katria blurted out, nails blunt against his breastplate. “It’s…” 

“Katria!” a frantic voice hissed behind her.

She turned and saw Clara standing near her, knuckles white as she clenched her hands together. “I can help with-,” 

“ _Enough_ ,” Katria hissed, more alarm shooting through her, fraying her already raw nerves. She knew Clara was simply trying to help—an eleven year old girl who saw someone struggling and wanted to do something. Except that something was a particular set of skills Clara had that Templars had a finely-tuned sense for. 

Katria had met Clara on the streets of Darktown: an orphan among a sprawling sea of poverty in the most dangerous part of Kirkwall. Katria, though she would never _admit_ to having any sort of sensitivity towards that kind of suffering, took pity on the tenacious girl. Almost two months after Katria began regularly bringing her food, Clara’s magic manifested itself. In healing, thankfully—nothing explosive that might draw a Templar’s attention. 

Clara was terrified, of course. Kirkwall was not a safe place for mages. The rumors that spilled from the Gallows were horrific and unpleasant. Knight-Commander Meredith’s paranoia and methods of control were not something she wanted to expose Clara to. 

Katria had her own reasons to hate Templars, so she promised to protect Clara. She promised that once she had enough money, she’d buy them both passage away from Kirkwall to somewhere safer. Now, positively broke, Katria had no means to escape the city and survive. 

Clara could not use her magic. Not at the Blooming Rose. Not _anywhere_ in Kirkwall. 

Except this Templar was dying. If Clara could just mend the wound a little, she could bandage him up. 

Katria lifted one knee, watching with a clenched jaw as the Templar’s head lolled sideways. Her hand was streaked with his blood and applying pressure was not helping. He would bleed out from the stomach wound soon enough. 

If Clara healed the Templar and helped him live, he would remember what happened, and she would be taken to the Circle. If Katria waited for him to go unconscious, he would not survive the blood loss even with healing. So she would have to ensure that he did not _see_ he was being healed. 

She _should_ let this man die. Templars were part of an oppressive system that cost so many people, including herself, many things. This one was no different, even though he had been trying to help her and protect her. 

Her eyes slid to the table beside the stairs. Why did doing the right thing always have to be so _annoying_? 

“Get ready to help me drag him behind the bar,” Katria ordered Clara. She wrapped her hand around the neck of an empty liquor bottle nearby. Her plan was reckless; it might not work. The Templar could die, she’d lose her job, and this place would probably be razed. 

“I’m sorry in advance for this,” Katria said to him. 

She smashed the bottle over his head and knocked the Templar out.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen woke up with a splitting headache. A sharp, unrelenting pain right between his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if he had taken too little lyrium, but this ache was different. Mostly because it was in conjunction with a sharpness at his hip that told him something _else_ had happened. 

He grappled for the memories—he had been in the Blooming Rose, asking after the recruits who had been acting suspiciously. The tall, dark-haired bartender had been a nuisance, but after that things were…fuzzy. 

His eyes opened to the half-rotted wood beams of an unfamiliar roof. This was not the dark stone of the Circle he’d seen for almost a decade. Cullen slid his hands along the sheets on the cot under him, palms down to push himself up. 

He was in a very, _very_ small room. Between himself, the bed, and his bulky armor stacked in the corner, there was hardly space for anything else. A progressive creak from wooden stairs echoed from outside the door before it opened. 

The bartender appeared. Katherine. Kate. Katria? She was defensive upon seeing him—her eyes narrowed, and her thin lips dipped into a frown. 

She was young—his age at most, not older. There was a deep scar across her cheek that she scratched as she examined him. 

“You’re awake.” 

“What happened?” he demanded, though his voice sounded weak. 

She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Her hand gestured to the bandages wrapped around his stomach. “You came into the Blooming Rose asking questions. I had an incident with some drunk patrons, and you tried to help—not necessary, by the way—and you were stabbed.” 

“Maker’s breath…” he muttered. 

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome for the life-saving. Excuse me if I regret my decision.” 

Cullen sighed impatiently. “Thank you. I guess,” he said. “How much time has passed?” 

“You haven’t been unconscious for too long,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “But I’m sure some Templars will come looking for you soon.” 

Cullen didn’t want to think about what Meredith would say when he arrived late to the Gallows. He bent his knees and tried to turn on the bed. Pain shot through his chest and skull, and he groaned. 

“Why does my head hurt?” he asked. 

“Don’t know,” she said nonchalantly, then opened a drawer to a small table beside her. She extracted a small vial and handed it to him. “This is a potion for the pain.” 

Cullen regarded her wearily. Why should he trust this stranger? 

Katria made a disgusted noise and tossed it on the bed beside him. “Fine. Don’t take it. But consider why in the Void I’d bother saving your life only to poison you.” 

A valid point. Cullen reluctantly scooped up the vial. Once he finished it, he wiped his mouth with his arm. More memories flooded back to him as he raised his hand to probe the tender spot on the back of his head. 

“You…” He closed his eyes. “Why did you hit me with a _bottle_?” 

Katria turned to him, frowning. “That didn’t happen.” 

Cullen sat up in the cot. “Why are you lying?” He looked around the small room. “Are you trying to hide something?” 

She snorted. “Typical Templar paranoia.” 

“This wound was severe,” Cullen began. “What happened? How did I survive?” He looked down and pulled the bandages on his hips aside—he was not fully healed, but the wound was nearer to being closed than he expected. Cullen froze. 

“Did you use healing magic on me?” 

Katria folded her arms over her chest. “That’s your first thought? That I’m a _mage_?” She shook her head. “Maker’s balls, you’d think with the title of Knight-Captain you’d be less of a moron.” 

“I know what a magically-healed wound looks like,” he snapped. 

“Do you?” she shot back. “Well, come on Templar. Go ahead and try to Silence me if you think I’m an apostate.” 

So Cullen did. Though it took a tremendous amount of effort and worsened his headache, the lyrium in his veins beckoned to his well-practiced call. If this woman was a mage, his Silence would have reacted to her mana and drained it, tampered with her connection to the Fade. The force of his blow pushed her back a little and rattled the wood panels on the wall behind her, but he sensed no magic. 

She pulled a small dagger from her belt. “I am not a mage, Knight-Captain,” she said, voice grave. “And I have saved your life.” She approached him, blue eyes glinting like he was prey. “You might believe that your wound was healed through magic, but I would think twice about investigating further. This isn’t a safe place for people like you.”

Cullen did not like his current situation. Clearly she was hiding _something_ , even if she was not a mage herself. He would investigate this suspicious woman further, but not when he was out of his armor, unarmed, standing in front of someone who had proved to be quite the combatant. 

“I understand,” Cullen said, through clenched teeth. 

Katria smirked, her dagger spinning in her hand before she put it back on her belt. “Glad to hear it, Templar.” She pointed to his armor. “There’s your stuff. We’re still in the Blooming Rose, top floor. Go down the stairs and get out.” 

Cullen nodded curtly and she slammed the door as she left. He forced himself to stand, weathering a brief dizzy spell before stumbling to his armor. He stopped in front of it, a bit annoyed because it was so messily stacked and disregarded and he normally tried to take good care of it. 

Something else occurred to him. Templar armor was bulky, complicated. It had taken him months as a recruit to figure out how all the buckles and straps worked together. She’d gotten his armor off fast enough to tend to his wound. How? 

===

Cullen did not tell Meredith what happened. He simply retreated to his office, taking his daily draught of lyrium that seemed to numb most of his senses, including the pain in his side. He was disappointed his probing at the Blooming Rose had come up short. He was determined to find out more about the mysterious behavior of his recruits, even if he had to resort to more drastic measures with them. 

Cullen spent the rest of the day catching up on his work, then went out to patrol the massive stone courtyard. 

Cullen did not really enjoy loitering there. The Gallows was not a welcoming place, especially at its entrance where bronze statues of slaves were erected to remind everyone of its former purpose. It was designed by Tevinter magisters to stand tall and imposing by the Kirkwall docks. To be a monolith of sharp points and stone. 

It felt like a prison, but Cullen let himself ignore that because it was the right infrastructure for a Circle. It helped maintain control. 

The sun set behind the stone battlements, and the flickering torches were the only light by which Cullen could see the mages being herded inside to adhere to Meredith’s strict curfews. He helped them along, seeking out dark corners and secluded places where their charges might hide. He did not mind being stern with the mages if it meant he would avoid Meredith’s ire. 

Night fell, and only Templars remained patrolling the open space of the Gallows. Cullen considered going back to his office to finish the next week’s guard schedule, when he heard a laugh and the scuffling of stone. It was a woman’s laugh, which made him pause because there were currently no female Templars on guard.

Cullen’s armor clanked as he walked around the corner of a large statue; because of the noise, he did not approach using the element of surprise. There was a woman before him meeting his gaze when he appeared. It was the _bartender_. Katria. 

She was wearing some sort of hunting coat, cut to her hip, ragged, with a textured collar. The jacket—none of her clothes, actually—fit very well. Two daggers were tucked into her belt. 

What perplexed Cullen was why this woman carried those daggers. Rogues were supposed to be petite and waif-like. She instead looked more like a warrior—long legs, athletic build, shoulders broad under her jacket. 

When she saw him, she did not look surprised. Her bow-shaped mouth split into a wide smile. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. 

“Is that your business, Knight-Captain?” she asked back, a playful lilt to her voice. 

Cullen narrowed his eyes, looking over at the shame-faced recruit trying to melt into the shadows. It was a young man—Turner—who was supposed to be somewhere else. 

“Turner,” he snapped. “This isn’t your post. Library. _Now_.”

He nodded eagerly, spewing an apology before he saluted and hurried off. Katria’s eyes followed him as he left, a smile pulling at her lip. 

“He’s cute.” 

“What are you doing here?” Cullen bit out again. 

She shrugged. “I see non-mages loitering here all the time. Why can’t I?” 

He tightened his hand around the pommel of his sword. “What you were doing with Turner? Were you…” Her body language was different now than it had been when he first came upon them. Her hip had been jutted out as she played with her hair; as he studied her in this moment, she was shut down, arms crossed in a weary pose. “ _Flirting_ with him?” 

Katria laughed. “Why do you make that sound so bad? Can Templars not flirt? Are they only to seek out the company of prostitutes?” 

“I—no,” he said. “But you are not to bother my men while they are on duty. There will be consequences.” 

She stepped closer to him. “Forgive me if I’m not frightened by you,” she said, as she placed her hand over his breastplate, near his wound. “If I put pressure in just the right place, Knight-Captain, I can make you crumple.” 

He pushed her hand away. “Why do you think you can continue to threaten me?” he asked. “When you are so clearly hiding something from me?”

Katria tapped her finger against his breastplate; it made a muffled _ding_ in the silence between them. “Because you’re not going to do anything about it, Templar.” 

“Get out,” Cullen growled, and she only seemed entertained by his temper.

“As you command,” Katria said, giving him a mock salute before spinning on her heel and marching out. 

He unclenched his fist once she disappeared into the shadows outside the keep. When he turned, another Templar was watching him. The young man jumped back to attention as soon as Cullen spotted him. 

“Miller,” Cullen snapped, marching over. “What were you looking at? Do you know that woman?” 

Miller nodded hesitantly. “Yes, ser. She assists the smith in Hightown, then makes deliveries here sometimes. And…” 

“And what?” Cullen said impatiently. 

“Well, she’s known to, um…” Miller scratched his head. “She enjoys the company of Templars.”

“Enjoys the company….” Cullen shook his head. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered before crossing his arms and appraising Miller. “You haven’t…” 

Miller’s face reddened. “N-No, no, ser,” he stammered. “She, um…I only…I don’t want to speak out of turn, Knight-Captain, but the recruits she’s involved with frequently break the rules for her. I would never do that.” 

Cullen clenched his jaw. Of course his men sometimes broke curfew, or missed shifts, were insubordinate, but he had not connected a collection of these deviances to one person. 

“Why did I not know that?” he asked.

“Forgive me, sir,” Miller replied. “She’s…sneaky.” 

“Sneaky?” Cullen began incredulously. “For Andraste’s sake, _this_ I will be putting a stop to.” 

He stalked off, trying not to mutter under his breath. What possible reason could this random woman have to poach his men? To force them to break the rules? If she wasn’t a mage, why would she have such disdain for Templars? 

Cullen gave a low growl. There was no appeal to this woman, anyway. She was not some seductive vixen; frumpy, maybe, unkempt. And she _certainly_ didn’t have any sort of appealing personality. 

It occurred to him she could be involved in more than some inappropriate romantic affairs. Cullen suspected blood magic was tied to the disappearance of his recruits, and this woman could be linked to that too, especially since she worked in the Blooming Rose. He vowed to investigate further and put a stop to _all_ her activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for their support! :D Events in Kirkwall will take place over only a few chapters; this section was pretty fun to write because early-20's Katria and Cullen are much grumpier. But don't worry, we'll move into the events of Inquisition soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Katria stripped the thread-bare blanket from her cot after the Knight-Captain left. She washed it, even though he hardly slept on it, because his Templar stench permeated the room. Though she could be being a bit dramatic about that. 

It had not been her intention to run into him at the Gallows. She normally kept a low-profile in the courtyard, or met Templars in other places, but Turner was not very good at being quiet. 

The Knight-Captain suspected her of wrong-doing now, she knew that. You couldn’t sneeze in Kirkwall without being accused of blood magic, and since she made it her business to make appearances at the Gallows and sleep around with Templars, of course this stuffy Knight-Captain would be wary of her.

It was an unethical thing to do—seduce Templars for fun. But she had suffered at the hands of the Templar Order for reasons she no longer cared to think about, and they fucking deserved it, especially in Kirkwall. When they bent their precious code of conduct to be with her, it gave Katria immense satisfaction. It was fucked up. She did not care. 

That night, as Katria was about to fall back into bed after serving drinks all evening and retelling the story from the day before over and over to interested patrons, Clara burst into the room. 

“I’m done with the dishes,” she said. “Quintus gave me an extra silver!” 

“Good,” Katria said, fluffing the pillow before Clara jumped into bed. The two of them switched who got to sleep in the cot every evening. 

Katria was the first person to recognize that the Blooming Rose was not a great place for an eleven-year old to live, but the alternative was leaving Clara alone to her own devices in Darktown, which was unacceptable. Katria desperately wished she had enough coin to find their own place to live, but she was focused on using her money to get them out of Kirkwall. Relations between mages and Templars were only getting tenser—there was no time for them to tarry here.

“I met with Hadrian today,” Clara remarked, folding her small hands over her stomach. 

Katria cleared her throat, warning her to keep her voice down. “How did it go?” she asked. 

“Fine,” she said. “I learned some new…tricks.” 

Katria smiled slightly. Hadrian was an apostate, a member of the rapidly growing mage underground movement. He had agreed to help train Clara. Katria was not a mage, and Clara need some guidance concerning her magic, lest her abilities became a danger to her.

“You must ensure you are careful,” Katria said, settling down on the hard floor. “Especially after…” 

Clara stared down at her, blue eyes wide. “Did the Templar…suspect anything?” 

She sighed. “He did.” 

The girl scooted closer to the edge of her bed. “You don’t think…?” 

Katria pursed her lips, staring up past her at the wood ceiling. “I won’t allow anything to happen to you, Clara. We will just have to…be especially careful.” 

Her fingers curled into the blanket under her. “Did we do the right thing?” 

Katria didn’t know the answer to that question, though she supposed she knew the correct thing to say to Clara as a guardian. “We did,” she said. “The Templar was trying to help me, and it was very noble of you to try to help him. You’re a good kid.” 

Clara grinned. “I’ll remember you said that the next time I want to buy sweet rolls.” 

Katria snorted. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” 

Clara rolled over in the cot, her breathing slowing as she drifted off to sleep. Despite her previous teasing, Katria felt restless. She stared up at the ceiling most of the night, chewing on her lip, worrying because this Knight-Captain was probably relentless and certainly suspicious of her. Her shaky exhale filled the dark and silent room. 

Saving his life might have been one of the worst decisions she could have made. 

===

A week later, Katria returned to the Gallows, for business this time. In addition to bartending, she worked as an apprentice and a courier for a blacksmith named Korval in Hightown. When Korval needed weapons enchanted, Katria would take them to the mages in the Gallows. 

At the threshold of the Circle, Katria surveyed the area, eyes sliding over each Templar in turn looking for Knight-Captain Cullen. He’d probably asked around about her and found out about her particular habits. He was nowhere in sight, so she marched across the stone with a stack of parchment. 

“Good morning, Maddox,” Katria said, giving a smile to the young man standing at the table of mage’s wares. Beside Maddox, was a fully-armored Templar, guarding the table, and the mages there, of course. 

She nodded politely to the Templar--his name was Samson, and he could be gruff, crass even, on occasion, but she counted him among the _few_ members of the Order she could actually tolerate. He had proven to be quite sympathetic to the mages' cause; that required an amount of bravery and integrity most Templars did not have a fraction of. “Hello to you, too, Samson,” she said to him. 

“Katria,” Samson said with a small bow, smiling slightly. “Are you here to cause more trouble?” 

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Now why would you say I’m causing trouble?” 

“I share a room with Knight-Captain Cullen,” he replied. “Instead of spending his nights jumping at his own shadow, he paces the floor mumbling about _you_ and your…dithering.”

“And blood magic, too, probably,” Katria muttered, then grinned at him. “Though I can assure you, I’m not here to cause any problems.” 

Samson merely snorted, before Maddox raised a finger to get her attention. 

“You…have some orders from Korval?” he began, his eyes bright. 

Maddox did not look so happy because he was excited about the prospect of work. 

Korval was an industrious, hard-working Marcher with a large family. He had an eldest daughter, Lilly—a comely and well-read young woman who’d met Maddox through her father’s work. Maddox and Lilly took quite a liking to one another and had been exchanging letters for almost a year. 

Katria feared for them. Their correspondence was a risky endeavor, but the two insisted they were deeply in love. That something would change in their life-times, and they could be together soon. So Katria helped them because maybe all her hope was not lost. 

Lilly wrote letters that Katria smuggled to Maddox through Korval’s orders. Maddox, in turn, gave his letters to Samson. It helped avoid suspicion that the letters entered and left from different places. Yet every time Katria handed off the parchment to Maddox, her skin still prickled. 

“Korval would like these by the end of the month,” Katria said. Samson's eyes watched the exchange, knowing full well what else accompanied the orders. 

Maddox nodded eagerly. The besotted smile on his face when she came by was endearing—seeing the burgeoning love he had was a bright spot in her life; it’s why she delivered the letters week after week, despite the risk. Someone deserved to be happy in Kirkwall, even if it would not ever be her. 

“You may let Korval know that Knight-Templar Samson will deliver them promptly,” he replied, and Samson nodded his consent beside them. 

Maddox shuffled through the papers, looking down, and murmured something out of earshot of anyone else. 

“Knight-Captain Cullen has been…inquiring about your business here. Perhaps you should make yourself scarce for a while.” 

Katria grinned in reply to him, but felt spurned—maybe it was ill-advised, but she did not want to be scarce. In fact, she wanted to increase her efforts just to spite the Knight-Captain. She smiled slightly. 

“Thanks for the warning, Maddox.” 

“Well thank you for these…orders,” he said, picking them off to the table to hold them close to his chest like something precious. 

Katria waved goodbye to him and Samson, then turned to quickly exit the Gallows. 

She did not make it far. 

Knight-Captain Cullen was waiting for her at the end of the courtyard. He was looking at her, so _serious_ , brows arched inwards with a tight-lipped frown. She stopped in front of him with a sharp exhale. 

“Good morning, Templar. How kind of you to take time out of your day abusing mages to come speak to me.” 

His square jaw clenched. “I am in charge here, and I will not tolerate your attitude.” 

“Here’s a thought,” Katria said. “How about you tolerate nothing about me by leaving me _alone_?” 

The Templar stepped closer to her. “You will cease these absurd _activities_ of yours.” 

“Activities?” she began, feigning innocence. “Delivering orders from Korval?” 

“You know what I mean,” he growled. “I don’t want to see you in the Gallows any longer. Or there will be repercussions for your actions.” 

“I am not a mage,” Katria snapped. “You have no authority over me.” 

“I have authority _here_ ,” he said, pointing down with one finger. 

She stepped back with a snort. “Fine, Templar-,” 

“Knight-Captain.” 

“Which is a category of Templar, so fuck you.” She folded her arms over her chest. “As I was saying, I would be happy to tell you I will comply with your orders. You won’t see me in the Gallows.” 

Though that did not mean she would not _be_ there, of course. 

“Good,” he said. “Leave now, or I will have my men escort you out.” 

“Oh, I do so like it when your men take me out, Knight-Captain.” 

He flushed red—from anger or embarrassment, Katria couldn’t tell—and she did not stick around to find out which it was. Instead, she spun on her heel with a mischievous grin and exited the Gallows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little background on how I timed the incidents with Samson. We know Cullen was in Kirkwall when Samson was a Templar (they were roommates), so Samson had to be removed from the Templars at least after 9:31 Dragon when the Blight ended, and Cullen arrived in Kirkwall. This story is set in 9:32 Dragon, and Hawke's interactions with Samson in Act I would theoretically take place after this. I always want to be as thorough as possible with canon, so if there are any holes, give me a shout.


	4. Chapter 4

Katria greatly increased her efforts with the Templars—just to spite Cullen—while also attempting to keep a low profile at the Gallows. She knew it probably wasn’t prudent to keep meddling because Knight-Captain Cullen could retaliate against her. But it didn’t matter—over the ensuing two months, she got closer and closer to being able to afford travel outside of Kirkwall, and she and Clara would soon be able to escape and no longer live under the shadow of the Circle and the Templar Order. 

In the early morning, Katria had a large order to deliver to the Gallows from Korval. Lilly had been out of the city visiting her sister, so Katria had not seen much of Maddox lately because there were no letters for her to give him, but he would likely be there today. 

After stretching out her muscles that were perpetually sore from sleeping on the floor, Katria exited her small room. Clara was sprinting up the stairs in front of her and stopped with a smile. 

“I finished my chores and Quintus says I can go,” she said. 

“Where exactly will you be going?” Katria asked.

Clara fiddled with her shirt. “Well, Hadrian said I could have a long session of training.” 

“Be safe,” Katria ordered. “And careful. I know Hadrian lives in Darktown, but don’t go down there, okay? Find somewhere else to practice.” 

“Okay!” Clara replied with a smile before she skipped off back down the creaking stairs. 

Katria was reluctant to let her go. She assuaged herself with the reminder that this training was necessary: _someone_ had to teach Clara to control her magic, or else it would be more obvious than ever she was a mage. 

In Hightown, Katria gathered Korval’s orders, then headed for the docks. She wasn’t too worried about being spotted by the Knight-Captain—she could just wave her rolls of parchment in his face and tell him the Templar Order should not be spurning small businesses. 

She didn’t see him around, anyway, so she traversed the stone and passed the bronze statues to the mage’s stall. Maddox was there, in his navy blue robes, but she could only see the back of his head and his dark hair. 

“Morning, Maddox,” she said, dropping the orders on the table. 

He turned to face her. “Good morning, Lady Katria.” 

“Korval said that some of these are-,” She stopped, jaw unhinging slightly when Maddox met her gaze, unblinking. 

His freckled forehead was branded with the Chantry’s sunburst. The mark of the Tranquil. 

“Maddox?” she began, her voice breaking. “ _Maddox_?” 

She scrambled around the table and grabbed his hands—real and warm, but his eyes were so vacant. Her throat felt tight from panic, and she swallowed roughly. 

He cocked his head. “I suspect you are upset that the Rite of Tranquility was performed on me.” 

“Yes, M-Maddox….when?” she demanded. 

“Two days ago,” he said. 

Katria stepped back, gripping her hair. “I don’t understand. Was this about…the letters…” 

Maddox began shuffling through the papers she had brought, remaining nonchalant as he spoke. “The charge against me was ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar’ and I was punished accordingly.” 

“ _Moral integrity_?” she spat out. “That’s—insane. Who was the Templar? Samson?” 

“Yes,” he replied. “Knight-Templar Samson has been removed from the Order.”

Katria buried her face in her hands. “Maker’s balls…” 

She heard heavy-armored footsteps behind her and turned. A patrolling Templar had stepped forward, probably drawn by the shrillness of her voice; she did not recognize him. 

“Do you have business here?” he asked. “Is there a problem?” 

“I do have business here,” she snapped, fist clenched. She needed to speak to First-Enchanter Orsino. The Kirkwall Guard, the Chantry. Performing the Right of Tranquility was illegal without significant provocation. Writing letters to be delivered outside the Gallows was not provocation at all. Meredith was—a _tyrant_. Knight-Captain Cullen, too, since he’d obviously allowed this to happen. 

Katria felt angry. Teeming with rage. This is _exactly_ why she would never allow Clara into the Circle. The exploitation was rampant and obscene—in Ostwick, she’d never truly known how far the abuses of the Circle could extend. Now, seeing it more clearly, being exposed to it, horrified her. How could this be allowed to stand?

“Stewart, I assume you are going to assist this young woman out of the Gallows?” 

Katria sought out the sound of the other voice near her. Knight-Captain Cullen was there, though he did not look too smug; instead, his face was tight, the circles under his eyes darker than she’d seen. 

“I understand if you are upset,” Cullen said, gesturing to Maddox. 

“Do you?” she began angrily. “How could you—how could you fucking _allow_ this?” 

He shifted. “There are certain things that are-,” 

“I don’t want any of your bureaucratic shit,” she spat. “Did you really approve of this?”

Cullen hesitated. “I—am beholden to the decisions of Knight-Commander Meredith.” 

“That’s your reply?” Katria snapped. “You do what Meredith says under this structure of authority? Because that’s what the Chantry wants you to do?” She clenched her fist. “Meredith is a tyrant!” 

Cullen swiftly raised his hand, palm facing her. “You can’t say those things here.” 

“Oh, yes, Maker forbid we introduce any _honesty_ into this corrupt system.”

His neck snapped around, clearly uncomfortable with the level of her voice. “I am tired of your complaints. Your glibness,” he growled. “We protect mages, and you need to leave. Now.” 

Katria was grated by his condescension. By his pedantic lectures about a system that was _clearly_ so far from the Chantry’s purpose. She was ready to jump out of her skin—she felt restless and out of control. 

She really was not thinking when she reared back her fist and punched Cullen directly in the face. 

He did not block her—he clearly didn’t suspect that anyone would assault a Knight-Captain in the middle of a Circle. 

“You son a bitch!” she blurted out, as he stumbled and covered his face, then pulled back his hand to look at the blood staining his gauntlet. She’d smacked him pretty hard in the nose.

Cullen lifted his eyes to her—sharp and furious. She instinctively shrunk back because his expression was a little terrifying. 

His voice shook with rage. “ _You_ are-,”

Katria did not let him finish; she retreated a few steps before breaking into a sprint out of the Gallows. Of course she ran—Knight-Captain Cullen could be as merciful as he wanted, once Meredith heard about what happened, she’d probably cut Katria’s hand off. And she needed that hand, so she ran hard against the stone, sending shocks up her shins as she rounded the corner headed for Hightown. Because of their armor, she heard other Templars in pursuit of her. Thankfully, she was faster and had the advantage of being much more familiar with the topography of the area. 

It would not help her for long. Knight-Captain Cullen knew where she lived. He would send men there to fetch her, or come himself. Maker’s balls, and then those men might run into Clara—the last thing the girl needed was a group of Templars _questioning_ her. 

Katria stumbled into an alley to catch her breath, clenching her hands against the dark wall behind her. She let out an exhale that sounded a lot like a groan. 

She should have been more responsible. Less reckless. But how was she supposed to contain her emotions when her anger felt so _large_ —when it consumed her so completely, while she also tried desperately to pretend none of it had happened?

The Templars continued their search for her. Katria evaded them, finding respite in some hidden places for a few hours, until she traveled to Lowtown, thinking she would be less likely to be pursued there. 

She was near the docks, jacket tight around her waist, head bowed low, when she stopped. There was a man huddled along a wet stone wall, dark hair recognizable as it swung in front of his forehead. 

“Samson,” Katria blurted out. 

The man raised his head—he looked tired and so small out of his Templar armor. “Surprised to see me?” 

She stepped forward, hand outstretched, though she retracted it after a few moments. “I went to the Gallows, a-and…” 

Samson snorted bitterly. “So you heard the news?” 

Katria looked around. “They just— _released_ you?” 

He crossed his arms. “They told me I was lucky. That they could have punished me more severely.” 

“What are you going to do?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I have no coin, and if I get some, we both know what I’ll spend it on.” 

She shook her head. “Samson, you can’t waste your money on lyrium. You must stop-,” 

He barked with laughter. “ _Stop_?” he began acridly. “You think it’s that easy? You ever wonder why you don’t see any Templars leave the Order? We’re free to walk away, but they’re the only ones who have the dust.” He scowled. “If you stop, it just about kills you.”

“There must be another way,” Katria insisted. “Perhaps you could rejoin, if Meredith-,” 

He sharply waved his hand with a look of disgust. “She will never allow it. Even if her precious Knight-Captain asked her to. Though he probably wouldn’t.” 

“Samson-,” 

“Can’t you see there’s no _point_?” he interjected angrily, jerking towards her. “The Chantry has used me for as long as they needed, and now I’m a husk of a man. You can provide no aid. Leave me be.” 

Katria made an exasperated sound. “I could-,” 

“Go away!” he snapped while he flung one arm out. “Just _go_!”

She stepped back and drew her hands into her coat—his anger was understandable. His rage, even. He would spend the rest of his life addicted to a substance he’d taken, thinking he was in service to the Chantry. Now he was cast out and…destitute. It was a solemn picture. 

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Samson,” she said softly. 

He met her gaze, jaw clenched and his eyes bloodshot. “Get that mage child of yours and leave Kirkwall. Immediately. It is not safe here. I am not foolish enough to think you have enough coin to allow me to join you.” 

Samson was right, but guilt flushed her to hear it. Katria sighed, brow furrowing, and he only grunted. 

“Go,” he said again, and Katria reached for his arm, squeezing it, before flipping the collar of her coat up and disappearing back into the shadows of Lowtown. Part of her hoped the Templars had given up their search for her. 

Either way, she needed to return to the Blooming Rose. Clara would have arrived back by now, and they needed to plan their next steps. Katria was not ready to leave Kirkwall—she needed more coin. They’d need to think of a way to get that coin quickly. They could last a few more weeks here, at least. If she didn’t go around assaulting anymore Knight-Captains. 

Katria moved into Hightown as the sun crested high over her head. After giving herself a few extra minutes and plenty of deep, calming breaths, she weaved through streets, crossed the threshold of the Blooming Rose—

And saw Knight-Captain Cullen standing by the bar with two Templars behind him. 

Katria froze, her eyes darting to the stone stairs across the room, wondering if she could sneak across without being detected. Then she looked back at the bar and saw Quintus raise his hand to point to her. Katria waved her arms, trying to signal him to _not_ single her out, but it was too late.

Cullen’s neck snapped around—he looked worse for wear, his nose an unattractive range of black, purple and red. It was definitely broken. He marched over to her. 

“You are under arrest,” he hissed, stopping far too close to her. 

She leaned back. “That’s not your call, Knight-Captain.” 

“I am having you escorted by these two men to the Captain of the Kirkwall Guard,” he said. “You have assaulted a member of the Templar Order, and you will be punished for it.” 

“I don’t think it counts as a crime if you deserved it,” Katria pointed out. 

He clenched his fist as he made a frustrated noise. “I do not have time for your attitude. You will follow these men and cooperate.” 

She grinned, though on the inside she was terrified. “You’re not coming along to ensure my safe delivery?” 

“I would, but I have business in Darktown,” he said. 

“What business?” she asked. 

Cullen looked annoyed at her question. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “There have been reports of blood magic there, and I am going to investigate because despite your utterly misguided opinions of the Templar Order, we actually _help_ people and protect the innocent.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that what you say to yourself so you can sleep at night?” 

He stepped back from her, no longer engaging. “Take her,” he ordered his men, and they stepped forward. 

She raised her hand to stop them. Normally she would not care about blood magic anywhere in Kirkwall, but Clara was not back from her training—the bin Quintus stacked his dirty mugs in was still on the counter, and it was the first thing the girl picked up to take to the kitchens. Perhaps it would be prudent to simply ask. 

“Wait,” she said. “Could you—what sort of rumors about blood mages in Darktown have you heard?” 

His brow wrinkled slightly. “Why do you care?” 

“Just explain,” Katria said impatiently. 

Knight-Captain Cullen huffed. “We have been keeping tabs on an alleged apostate named Hadrian who we suspect is planning a blood magic ritual.” 

Katria made a strangled noise, trying not to collapse to the floor as her knees buckled. Hadrian? The young, blonde Marcher with dimples and a crooked smile--a _blood mage_? Blood mages were supposed to be…evil, mustached Tevinters, not young and energetic mages who said they were primarily _healers_. 

The urge to mow down Knight-Captain Cullen and run head-first into Darktown overcame her swiftly, and she fought it. 

He noted her reaction, obviously. “Do you know this man?” he demanded, then shook his head. “Of course you do.” 

“I—I didn’t know he was a blood mage!” Katria snapped. “And you don’t either!” She ran her hand through her hair. “Maker’s balls I’m coming with you. We can-,” 

Knight-Captain Cullen let out a disbelieving grunt. “You can’t be serious. You’re not a Templar.” 

“No—fuck, you don’t understand,” Katria insisted. “I know someone who…” She sighed. “The young girl, Clara, she’s under my care and sometimes she meets with Hadrian-,”

“Because she’s a mage,” he finished, almost looking smug. “An _apostate_. That’s how I was healed two months ago.” 

“That is not important right now!” Katria growled. “We need to go.” 

“You’re not accompanying me,” he said. “You are not authorized to do so. And you need to be taken into custody for your previous actions.” 

Maker, this man was so _frustrating_. “We can stand here and argue pointlessly if you’d like,” she snapped. “But what happens next will go one of two ways—you can be rational and allow me to help. We all work together to help protect the innocent, as you say. Or you can leave me here with your two men, and while they try to escort me, I will fight them every step of the way, then _win_ and go into Darktown myself.”

Knight-Captain Cullen exhaled sharply, studying her with nothing but malevolence. His whole body was tense, and he thought for entirely too long before he finally spoke. 

“You will be taken into custody by the Kirkwall Guard as soon as we are done in Darktown.” 

Katria was not going to accept that outcome, but nodded anyway. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s just go.” 

He still looked incredibly frustrated with himself, but with a sharp gesture motioned them out of the door. 

Katria was impressed at how little they were harassed while in Darktown. Traveling with Templars in full-plate armor certainly had _one_ advantage. 

“Do you know where Hadrian lives?” Knight-Captain Cullen asked her. “We’ve only seen him in a few locations in this area.” 

“I do,” Katria replied; her voice was threatening to break as they trekked further into the dark shadows. Maker, she hoped Clara was alright. Maybe the girl had just gotten delayed on the way home—by the pastry shop, or by some friends. 

Katria should have been more careful. How could she justify keeping Clara away from the Circle if the result was her being endangered like this? 

It took some time for Katria to acclimate herself to Darktown—there was hardly any order, and her recollection of where Hadrian lived was shaky at best. 

An old stone building—more of a hut, really—stuck out to her. It was dilapidated, tucked in a shadowy alley that somehow felt more dangerous than the rest of Darktown. 

She approached the wooden door, turning slightly when she heard Knight-Captain Cullen order his two men around the other side of the building to flank it on either side. Which left him alone with her. 

She smiled smugly at him. “Are you sure you can be trusted alone with me?” 

“Open the door,” he growled in reply. 

Katria pushed on it, and it shuddered, locked from the inside. 

“Move,” Cullen said, but she ignored him, bracing her feet on the ground, scrunching her face up as she flung all her weight directly into the door. 

It was weak and ill-made, so it bucked inward, snapping in a few places as she staggered into the house. Still, it _hurt_ and she rubbed her sore shoulder as she looked around the room. 

“Clara?” Katria called, and Cullen stiffened behind her. 

“Don’t-,” 

The next thing she heard was a whoosh of air before a slender projectile of flame shot towards her. Katria ducked, the fire dissipating just above her head. 

“Watch out!” Cullen exclaimed. 

She rolled onto her back. “A little late!” 

He stepped forward and dragged her roughly backwards. “I meant the ritual circle,” he hissed. “You can’t come in contact with the markings.” 

Katria looked at the floor—candles were burning, long and dripping wax, the light reflecting off the intricate lines drawn all across the ground to create a series of glyphs. There was a circular space in the center; Katria did not know much about blood magic, but she knew that was where the ritual took place, where the body went. Clara’s body—or that was Hadrian’s intention. It seemed the Knight-Captain was right about the rumors of blood magic. 

The door across from them swung open again, and she caught the flash of Hadrian’s face before a bolt of lightning shot towards them. Katria lifted her hand in a fruitless attempt to protect herself, but the shock never hit her. Cullen raised one hand, using his Templar ability to make the lightning fizzle out before it hit them. She grudgingly conceded the usefulness of bringing a Templar along to fight a blood mage. 

“Hadrian, you son of a bitch!” Katria shouted, stumbling to her feet. She leapt deftly across the ritual circle, through the door. 

Hadrian was standing and swung at her hard with his staff. Katria ducked, unsheathing a dagger and swiping sideways across his gut. Her blade sent sparks flying around them as it made contact with his barrier rather than the soft flesh of his stomach. 

Katria growled in frustration, but she had an advantage being so close to him. Likely moving too quickly for him to process, she leapt from her crouching position to ram her shoulder into his chest. They both fell to the floor, sharp pain shooting from her shoulder across her back. 

Her dagger was about to slide up to his neck, when some sharp force sent her flying backwards into the wood panels of the wall. She slid down to the floor. 

Knight-Captain Cullen had made his way into the room, drawing Hadrian’s attention. Katria pulled one of the smaller daggers from her belt and hurled it at him. Hadrian moved to stagger from the swing of Knight-Captain Cullen’s sword, so instead of embedding into his chest, the knife cut a deep line across his shoulder. 

Hadrian cried out—the sound an angry snarl—and spun his staff around his hand before pointing the end of it directly at her. Another stream of fire sprang forth, barreling towards her, and panic gripped her throat. 

The red and yellow shade of the flames was muted by a shimmering tint of blue that materialized in front of her just as a small body hurled itself forward. The fire slammed into the barrier, licking the edges, before it disappeared. 

Katria procured another dagger and threw it—she did not miss this time. Hadrian was hit directly in the throat. He fell back, his hands fumbling at his neck, but only getting coated in his blood as he choked on it and collapsed to the floor. 

“Clara,” Katria blurted out, dropping to one knee as the girl turned to her, white as a sheet and trembling. She grabbed her by her shoulders, holding her close. 

“You shouldn’t have jumped in front of me like that,” Katria murmured. 

Clara began to crying, her frail body curled against her chest as she blubbered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know a-and then Hadrian—and I know you said…I’m _sorry_.” 

“Okay,” Katria said, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here.” 

She exhaled slowly, trying to catch her breath because Clara would not be calm if she wasn’t calm. Katria squeezed her tightly, then lifted her head.

Knight-Captain Cullen was kneeling beside Hadrian’s body, inspecting it, probably ensuring he was dead, before he stood. 

The room felt tenser then, Katria’s blood turning cold at the way Knight-Captain Cullen examined her with his dark eyes. 

“We…need to be ready to move,” she whispered as quietly as possible into Clara’s hair. 

The girl nodded imperceptibly as Katria stood, body protectively slanted in front of Clara’s. 

Cullen pursed his lips. “Surely this shows you the necessity for what I will ask of you next.” 

He wanted Clara. She was technically an apostate and in his world view belonged in the Circle. 

Katria clenched her fist. Her voice shook. “I will not let you take her.” 

Cullen lowered his shield, face so _stern_. “It is my duty to ensure all mages are taken to the Circle, and you will not stand in my way.” 

Katria let her brow furrow, thinking nothing but _oh, fuck_ because she didn’t _want_ this. She didn’t want to fight Knight-Captain Cullen, but she’d promised Clara her safety. And there was no safety in the Circle. 

Her shoulder was pulsing with pain, but she pulled her dagger from her back anyway. She’d slept with plenty of Templars in her time, but had never fought one. There was a first time for everything, she supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more Kirkwall chapter left! Spoiler alert, things won't go well. :P


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some brief blood and violence in this chapter.

Katria knew how Templars were trained. There was a formula to it, a pathology she could pinpoint when she had seen them sparring. 

It gave her an advantage as she scrutinized Knight-Captain Cullen in his defensive stance. Though, no matter how familiar she was with the way he would position his shield, or what direction he’d swing his blade, it might not make up for how strong he was. Or how effective his plate of full armor would be against her unarmored flesh. 

Her final strategic decision was to _avoid_ fighting him. 

“Knight-Captain,” she said. “You don’t have to take Clara anywhere.” 

He shook his head. “She is a mage. The Circle is where she _belongs_.” He held out his hand. “It will help her; she’s an orphan, isn’t she? The Circle will provide food, warmth, and shelter.” 

Katria clenched her fist. “How could you possibly construe this as something _good_?” she demanded. “You saw what Meredith did to Maddox!” 

“As long as Clara does not break the rules that should not be a problem.” 

She stepped forward, scowling. Her polite approach had failed quite quickly. “Is that a promise?” she snapped. “Can you look me in the eye and _swear_ Clara will be safe? That Meredith or some other Templar won’t abuse her or make her Tranquil just because they _can_?”

Cullen lifted his chin, staring down his nose at her with an _uncomfortably_ convinced gaze. 

“We do our best.” 

Katria snorted derisively. “Well then I suppose I should be thanking you for giving Maddox and Samson the _best_ the Order has to offer. Destitution.” 

“The condition of the Circle is none of your concern,” Cullen said. “I have the legal responsibility as prescribed by the Chantry to bring all mages to the Gallows.” 

He stepped closer and Katria turned her wrist, dagger tilted up between them. Panic had gripped her, constricting her lungs, and she exhaled shakily through her nose. 

“Cullen— _please_ ,” she begged. “If you would just let us go, I swear to leave Kirkwall. I swear to never show my face in the Gallows o-or approach any Templar _anywhere_.”

“You are free to do what you’d like,” the Knight-Captain pointed out. “The girl comes with me.” 

“I don’t want to fight you,” Katria insisted. 

Knight-Captain Cullen sighed. “Please understand that I am authorized to use force against you if you continue to keep me from performing my duty.” 

“So you’d kill me?” she spat. “Run a sword through my gut just to take Clara to the Circle?” 

“This can be resolved peacefully,” he said. “And if I resort to violence, it is because of your actions.” He lifted his sword, the point only a few inches from her dagger. “Please drop your weapons.” 

Katria looked back at Clara, then to the window along the wooden wall a few feet away that was large enough for her to escape through. She dropped her dagger and let it clatter to the floor to draw Knight-Captain Cullen’s attention away. 

The Knight-Captain’s shoulders lowered in some form of relief, though as usual he was still incredibly guarded. He lowered his sword to his side. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Knight-Captain Cullen expressed his gratitude entirely too soon. 

He stepped forward, and she moved to slam the heel of her palm into his nose. Seeing as he had already been hit in the face that day, he blocked her, dropping his shield and wrapping his hand around her wrist. 

She spun in his crushing grip, using her momentum to shove her body into him, back to his chest, and send them both falling to the ground in a loud crash of metal. He didn’t catch himself—the weight of his armor restricted his movement, though he let go of her to try. 

Katria flipped over him onto her feet just above his head. She grabbed her remaining dagger and pointed it towards him. Her eyes flicked up just in time to see the back of Clara’s shirt flapping as she leapt from the windowsill to the street.

This was not about beating Knight-Captain Cullen. It was about letting Clara get away. 

The two of them had made a plan in advance in case they needed to leave Kirkwall quickly, and Katria hoped Clara would remember where they were supposed to meet. That shouldn’t have been her primary concern, of course; she needed some way to incapacitate Knight-Captain Cullen or he’d take her to the Gallows, where Meredith would probably torture her under the auspices of locating an alleged apostate. 

In true Templar form, the Knight-Captain did not care that she’d tackled him. He leapt to his feet, sword in hand, and immediately bolted towards the window to pursue Clara. Katria lurched forward, grabbing the back of his breastplate by the neck and yanking with every ounce of strength she had. Her other arm swung around, attempting to hold her dagger against his neck. 

He wrapped his fingers around her forearm, keeping it at bay. She kicked her legs out, then locked them around his waist from behind. 

“What sort of fighting is _this_?” he spat, fingers clenching her forearm and twisting hard, forcing her to drop the dagger with a sharp cry.

She tried to scratch his face. “The kind where I keep you from chasing Clara!” 

He growled in frustration when his attempts to fling her over his head failed because she was clinging too tightly with her legs on his waist. His next move was to backpedal and slam her violently into the wall. 

The wood panels splintered from the force, and a pain exploded across her chest as the sharp points of his armor crushed her between him and the wall. She slumped down, collapsing in a pile of limbs on the floor, her breath coming out in desperate heaves. 

Knight-Captain Cullen staggered forward, his mouth pursed in a ferocious sneer. He picked up his sword from the ground, moving to peer out of the window. Stupid, righteous son of a bitch still wouldn’t fight her. 

“You will be detained for interfering with a Templar investigation,” he snapped. 

Katria scrambled up, trying to ignore the pain in her chest and shoulder. She had one smaller remaining dagger on her belt that she pulled out. 

Knight-Captain Cullen lifted his hand to stop her; she drew his attention to the knife in her hand by trying to strike him, while using her other fist to make contact with the part of his breastplate where she knew his wound was—it was probably mostly healed by now, but still sensitive. He crumpled in slightly, which gave her the opportunity to hit him where it would really hurt: directly in the nose. 

Katria decked him, wrenching a strangled cry from him, then kicked at the bend of his knee where his armor was weakest. He teetered, and she tackled him to the floor, knife finally against his throat, so close she nicked him and a thin trail of blood mingled with the sweat on his neck. 

She was panting, hair sliding in a mangled mess over her shoulders as she looked down at him. “Don’t move.” 

There was some fear glinting in his eyes, though he looked furious more than anything. “Are you planning to kill me?” 

Katria adjusted her grip on the dagger. She’d made this mistake once. Saving this Templar’s life when he only caused her more trouble. If she slit his throat and left Kirkwall permanently, who would catch her? Is this how far she would go to protect Clara? Or maybe protecting the girl was just an excuse to take out her anger on him and make a statement about how corrupt the Order was.

“I gave you a chance to end this peacefully,” Katria said. “To let us go.” 

“I have a _duty_!” he spat. “I will not turn my back on it!”

“You’re a coward,” she whispered harshly. “When are you going to have the courage to do the right thing and not just what Meredith tells you? What will it take? Who has to die for you to realize the Order has it wrong?” 

“Do not lecture me about morality when you plan to kill me,” Knight-Captain Cullen growled. 

Katria stared down at him and swallowed. “What if I let you go?” 

She regretted the words the minute they left her mouth—she hated herself for always having so much mercy. Weakness. 

Knight-Captain Cullen sensed her uncertainty and shoved upwards. The sweat on her hand made her dagger slip—it sliced him only a little as he flung her over onto her back. He rolled on top of her and thrust his knee into her stomach. She felt the sharp edge of his armor cut a line across her hip as he moved. Pain shot through her, making tears well up in her eyes. 

Because his sword was across the room, he wrapped his hand around her throat instead. 

“You are under arrest.” 

He’d apparently given up on pursuing Clara and instead would probably drag her kicking and screaming to the Gallows. Katria’s arm flung out somewhere above her head—she knew her dagger was near, though things became a little fuzzy the tighter he clamped his hand over her throat. She gasped, drawing in a serrated breath and pushing on his shoulder with her other hand to little avail. 

The tips of her fingers brushed the cool metal of her dagger. It was the sharp side. 

Katria grabbed it anyway because the alternative was the Knight-Captain drawing her into unconsciousness and dragging her away. The edge sliced into her palm, blood trailing wet down her wrist as she lifted the dagger and cobbled the Templar over the head with the pommel. 

He slid sideways, air rushing into her throat as he let her go. She hit him again for good measure, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious. 

Katria dropped the knife, crowing in anguish at the pain lancing through her hand. She staggered to her feet. Part of her wanted to look at the Knight-Captain to check that he was still breathing, but she did not fucking _care_. It was more important to leave because when he woke up, he’d come after her. Relentless ass. 

She climbed through the window into the street, but was forced to stop when a wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled against the wall, eyes wrenched shut as tears threatened to break through. 

Her anger was palpable. It prickled her skin, made her tremble. She wanted to go back into that damn house and wring Knight-Captain Cullen’s fucking neck. It was because of him they were forced to leave Kirkwall _right now_. Once the other Templars knew Clara was a mage, they would _hunt_ her, and there needed to be many miles between them as rapidly as possible. There was no choice. Katria could survive on her own out there, but with Clara in tow, it would be more difficult. 

Katria did not need another reason to hate the Templars—she would harbor those feelings for the rest of her _life_ —but now she had one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a scuffle than a fight, but now onward nine years to Skyhold!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of this chapter was already posted as a teaser on my [tumblr](http://ces479.tumblr.com/), but there is some new content at the end!

_9:42 Dragon: Skyhold_

“For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I present Lady Katria Trevelyan, formerly of Ostwick.”

The tittering of voices in the Great Hall of Skyhold died down as Lady Montilyet spoke–the succinct _clank_ of each of Katria’s steps quickly became the only noise in the room. Two Inquisition guards pushed her to her knees in front of the Inquisitor’s throne; they were rough. Impolite. The shackles clamped around her wrists chafed her skin until she bled.

The Great Hall was not as polished as Katria thought it would be—to be fair, they’d gotten rid of the nesting animals and the broken chandeliers, but the furniture was rough and the room lacked any other decorations. There were a few nobles scattered around, complaining about the reprehensible state of the castle. Renovations had been quick since the Inquisition arrived almost a week and a half ago, but there was plenty of work left to do. 

Inquisitor Lavellan was dwarfed by her massive throne. Katria had not seen much of the fabled Herald of Andraste around Skyhold; _hearing_ about her created certain expectations that the real, living person did not meet. In reality, she was a simple Dalish mage, which seemed like a big cosmic joke on the Maker’s part. 

The Inquisitor leaned against the back of her chair, face severe, but her body language was tenser, more uncomfortable. Katria was not surprised. The poor girl was something like twenty-two, thrust into a role in a world she’d hardly had any contact with. 

Her hair was dark red and sheared at her chin. Katria wished her hair was that sleek when it was down. She was small, a waif of a girl, though the power of her magic more than made up for that. 

“What are the charges?” Lavellan asked. 

The well-dressed Ambassador glanced down at the writing board basically attached to her person. “Lady Trevelyan has-,” 

“Katria is fine,” she interjected; her voice echoed louder in the room than she expected. 

Lady Josephine pursed her lips and looked at her for a brief second. “She has been stealing gold from the Inquisition’s reserves.” 

Lavellan shifted, one elbow rested against the arm of her throne. “How much?” 

The Ambassador paused, and Katria smirked. “We don’t have an exact figure, but we estimate…almost a thousand sovereigns.” 

Lavellan’s brow arched inward. “That’s a lot coin,” she said, then her hazel eyes sought out Katria’s. “Why would you do this?” 

Katria was mildly surprised by that question. Most times she’d been shackled and sentenced, the judge did not particularly care for the motivation behind her crimes. 

Regardless, Katria did not take the question seriously. “I considered purchasing a set of solid gold daggers, but turns out I had some debts to pay.” 

Lady Josephine cleared her throat. “I traced some of the money to a few Skyhold pilgrims, families in the Hinterlands. Poor families.” 

Lavellan folded her slender fingers together—pale, and slightly calloused from holding her staff and living with the Dalish. Likely not as rough as Katria’s hands. 

“You stole that much money from the Inquisition for charity?” she asked incredulously. 

Katria grinned mockingly. “Noble, isn’t it?”

In reality, she did not feel particularly noble. There were not many times Katria was proud of what she did, even when it was good. On the other hand, she certainly didn’t feel remorse for the theft—the poor pilgrims she’d encountered, the struggling families, were given the coin she’d stolen out of some absurd emotional impulse she’d had. An impulse related to compassion and how deeply she understood the poverty these people were facing that the Chantry seemed to care nothing about.

Then she’d gotten caught because that Inquisition Spymaster was craftier and more observant than she expected. Though it was an unfortunate turn of events, Katria found herself respecting Sister Leliana’s skills. 

“It’s still theft,” the Inquisitor replied. “Tell me why.”

Katria gave a derisive snort. “I stole the coin because I could. Because I felt like you all deserved it. I was in Haven before the Conclave exploded, and I was convinced that this new Inquisition was just another way for the Chantry to further strong-arm its politics under the guise of peace for mages and Templars.” 

Her brow rose. “And after the Conclave exploded?” 

Katria looked up at her. “What would you like me to say? That your inspiring rise to power compelled me to change my ways?” 

“The truth would be nice.” 

She shifted, the metal of the shackles still cutting into her wrists. Her knees ached against the stone floor. “I kept stealing after the Conclave. Excuse me for not being convinced that a Dalish mage was somehow the answer to the Chantry’s problems.” She sighed. “After you were the big hero in Haven, and you all lost most of your coin reserves, I stopped.” 

“You think that remedies this?” Lavellan began, frowning. “You stopped and you’re sorry so there should be no punishment?” 

Katria tilted her head. “Well, I never said I was sorry.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you realize how severely I could punish you for this offense?”

Katria didn’t panic. Why should she? She’d been sitting in a cell for days accepting her fate. If she could negotiate her way out of it, great. If not—well, she’d never had much to live for anyway. 

“I suppose you could cut off my hand for this,” she said. “My head, even, though I’ve seen that sword of yours and it looks a bit heavy for you. Let me tell you: beheading someone? Not as easy as it looks.” 

“Get to the point,” Lavellan said coldly. 

“I stole coin from you, and I’m not in a position to pay you back,” Katria said. “But I could— _work_ for you to repay those funds.” 

She leaned back, clearly considering what Katria had said. “Work for me?” 

Katria nodded—a little flicker of hope grew inside her because at least the Inquisitor seemed somewhat reasonable. “I have a very particular skill set, and I can guarantee that I’m the best combatant you could have in your employ.”

“The best?” she said. “You realize my companions include the Hero of Orlais? A powerful Tevinter magister? A Qunari warrior? A former Knight-Commander of the Templar Order?” 

Katria did not blink. “The best.” 

Lavellan waved her hand impatiently. “Why would you think me enough of a fool to allow a thief into my employ?” 

“I told you my reasons for my crimes,” Katria replied. “I was motivated by ill-will against the Chantry, and since the Chantry disavows you, and you’ve actually done some good in Thedas, I can appreciate the Inquisition more.” She narrowed her eyes. “The stakes are also pretty high for you, Inquisitor.” 

“I’m aware of that,” she snapped, and Katria could see the anxiety intensifying on her face. 

“You need all the help you can get,” Katria insisted. “Can you really turn me away, or kill me, when I could fight for you in a battle that’s so close to being lost?” 

Lavellan leaned forward in her throne, the line of her mouth tight. She was considering, which was a good sign. The Inquisitor allowed herself a few quiet moments to think—wise, for someone her age—before she extended her hand, pointing, to declare her sentence. 

“I will give you one chance to be a part of the Inquisition. You will be under Leliana’s purview, and she will watch you like a-,” 

“Nightingale?” Katria suggested. 

“Hawk,” Lavellan bit out. “And if your loyalty comes into question for a single moment, you will receive the severest of punishments. You will work for the Inquisition until your debts to us are paid.” 

“I can agree to those terms,” Katria said. 

“They’re not terms,” the Inquisitor pointed out. “They’re orders. A sentence.” 

“I’ve heard it both ways.” 

Lavellan scrutinized her—Katria knew what she saw probably did not instill confidence. A glib woman over thirty with clothes that did not fit right, a poor hairstyle choice and a nose that occupied far too much of her face. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” Lavellan said, with a warning lilt, though Katria was not particularly threatened by it. 

“You won’t,” Katria assured her, with her best shit-eating smile. She still had plenty of secrets tucked away that the Inquisitor probably wouldn’t like. That was the nature of living with all the decisions she’d made after leaving Ostwick. 

And of course she was quite aware of who had been selected as the Inquisition’s commander. Knight-Captain Cullen. Though that was no longer his title. He still reeked of the Order anyway. On multiple occasions, she’d seen him in the training field at Haven and resisted the urge to approach him, screaming, maybe trying to hit him again. But she had to keep a low-profile to ensure her operations continued, so instead she glared at him from afar with so much hate she hoped he’d spontaneously combust. 

Now that Katria had agreed to join the Inquisition, join _him_ , she was technically amenable to making it work. To demonstrating her worth as someone fighting evil in the world, even if it meant tolerating Cullen. Before this Inquisitor Lavellan knew what hit her, Katria would prove herself to be exactly the companion she needed. 

If only to pay her debts off faster. 

===

Cullen was waiting in the War Room alone. It made the space feel more vast. Empty. He was used to it by now; his excessive punctuality was often the butt of Leliana and Josephine’s teasing, but he did not care. 

His fellow advisors and the Inquisitor were later than usual today. When he passed through the Great Hall, he had noticed a greater gathering of people whom he had no interest in interacting with. Many of the nobles who arrived first in Skyhold complained about the reprehensible state of the castle, yet did nothing to help fix that. 

The two soldiers waiting on either side of the Inquisitor’s throne told him the crowd was being drawn because the Inquisitor would soon sit in judgement. Cullen did not stay to watch—the Inquisitor had already judged a handful of their enemies, mostly the important ones, like Alexius. This batch was instead a few thieves, some traitorous nobles, things beyond his concern considering the bulk of the work restoring Skyhold fell to him and his men. 

He was scanning a report, one hand behind his back, when the massive wooden doors in the War Room opened. All three of the women crossed the threshold, Leliana the tallest, and the Inquisitor the smallest, though she carried herself with an ease and an air of confidence that made her seem larger. Cullen greeted them and readied himself to brief the Inquisitor on the scout’s report he received from the Western Approach, when Leliana spoke instead. 

“Do you have any further instruction concerning Lady Trevelyan?” 

The Inquisitor--Ellana, she always told Cullen to call her--crossed her arms. “Obviously keep her away from any sensitive information, and restrict her to training your new scouts. If she’s as good with her sword as she says she is.” 

Leliana nodded. “I will keep you appraised.” 

Josephine put her writing board down on the table in front of her. “I also plan to send some inquiries about her heritage. If she is truly a Trevelyan, and willing to be an official member of the Inquisition, perhaps we could tap into some of that influence.” She grimaced. “Though she certainly does not _dress_ like any noble I’ve seen. Not with that hideous jacket.” 

“Considering her lifestyle I doubt she’s on good terms with her family,” Ellana pointed out. “But we should discern _how_ exactly a noble ended up in that state—I would hate to find out she’s more than just a petty thief.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “Have you recruited a new agent?” 

Ellana turned to him—she always tried her best to look as serious as possible in the War Room, he’d noticed. “A woman named Katria Trevelyan was brought forward for judgment for stealing gold from the Inquisition in Haven. She offered her services as a combatant to repay her debts.” 

He squeezed his hand around the pommel of his sword. “Excuse me if I speak out of turn, Inquisitor, but are you sure that’s wise?” 

Ellana raised her small hand. “I understand your concern, but if she can be useful to us and proves to be trustworthy, the Inquisition will benefit, as opposed to if I’d killed her or let her rot in a cell.” 

“I will ensure she is monitored,” Leliana added. 

Cullen nodded, not entirely convinced, but he had quickly learned that Ellana had a capacity for trust that he did not often have. Sometimes he thought she was _too_ trusting, but he’d been her age once and had the same habits. She had not led them astray as Inquisitor thus far, no matter how tentative she had been in accepting the role.

He reached for a report in front of him, then froze and lifted his head when something else occurred to him. 

“What did you say the woman’s name was?” he asked. “Her first name.” 

“Katria.” 

Cullen swallowed and dropped his hand. He swiftly denied the possibility that the woman Ellana had judged was the same one he’d encountered in Kirkwall almost a decade ago. Who had knocked him unconscious _twice_. The second, when they’d scuffled, was the last time he’d seen her. He had informed Meredith about Clara, but the Templars sent in pursuit never found any trace of either of them, considering a phylactery was not made for the girl.

There _must_ be more than one Katria in the world, and the woman he’d met at the Gallows was no sort of noblewoman and could not _possibly_ be in Skyhold. 

Though it might be prudent just to ensure that. 

“What does she—look like?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but failing. 

Ellana raised an eyebrow. “Ah, she’s tall. Dark haired. Probably around your age.” 

Cullen still rejected the possibility—tall, dark haired, early 30’s? There were _thousands_ of women who fit that description in Thedas. No, obviously the Katria from Kirkwall—the only name he knew her by, then—was not this thief. 

Ellana snapped as she remembered something. “Oh! She also has this scar on her face.” She dragged her finger down her own cheek, which made Cullen audibly groan because while he did not remember much of Katria’s face, the scar on her cheek stuck out in his memory. 

“Maker’s breath,” he said, looking down. 

“You know her?” Leliana asked, with a playful lilt in her voice. 

“I—no,” he replied quickly. “I mean, _technically_. It’s…unimportant.” He straightened and squared his shoulders. “I apologize for this interruption. We have work to do.” 

Ellana gave a short laugh. “Oh, come on, Cullen, you won’t tell us how you know this woman?” 

“I don’t,” he insisted. “We met a few times in Kirkwall and—that’s all.” He shifted. “Though I should tell you she was not a trustworthy sort, and I doubt she will last long here.” 

At least, Cullen _hoped_ she wouldn’t last long. Or punch him in the face again, not that she’d ever catch him off guard like that. He clenched his fist.

“I can assure you, Inquisitor, Katria Trevelyan _cannot_ be trusted.” 

“Thank you for your input, Commander Cullen,” Ellana replied. “We will certainly remain vigilant.” 

Cullen knew he was perhaps being unfair. He was…a little frightened. Here was a woman who faced him at his worst in Kirkwall. Who witnessed his blind obedience to Meredith and the Order. He had changed and learned, but Katria did not see that. She saw him only as a Templar, and if she was harboring resentment because he forced her out of Kirkwall, what would she tell everyone else about him? What terrible things would she share that he had tried so hard to leave behind? 

While Cullen had not known Katria was in Haven or Skyhold, she must have noticed _him_. Must have let her hate fester. Or worse, was planning to exact her revenge on him.

He ran his hand through his hair. He should have gone to the judgment. He should have ensured Katria Trevelyan was _never_ allowed to join the Inquisition. Now it was too late, and he’d have to face her, and the man he had been when they’d met.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. Short little chapter today, and sorry for the delay in updating (been distracted by the DLC, surprise, surprise), but now I should be back on track!

Cullen crossed the Great Hall after his meeting in the War Room, trying to keep his breathing even, though part of him wanted to panic. He was out in the open, surrounded by people—Katria could be watching him, planning some prank or worse, some form of revenge.

And what exactly would he say to her if they crossed paths? He fully acknowledged how misguided he had been trusting Meredith all those years ago. Katria perhaps…deserved an apology, but if she was going to be smug and disdainful then he would not offer one. Her hate would not be diminished by his regret about his decisions in Kirkwall, and it’s not as if _she_ was blameless in her actions there either. 

Relief flooded him when he saw the door to his office. As he crossed the battlements, that door opened and one of his messengers hurried towards him. 

“Ser,” he said with a salute. “I was just looking for you. There is a Lady Trevelyan waiting for you in your office. She said she-,” 

“Maker’s breath, _already_?” he blurted out. “Do not let her-,” He stopped with a frustrated noise and brushed past the soldier. He threw open the door, eyes flying to his desk, but there was no one there. 

Cullen furrowed his brow, dropping his hand from his sword. Could she have left? He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled as he walked further into the room. 

A loud _thump_ reverberated through the floor behind him, and he whirled around. 

It was _her_ —frustrating, noble-born Katria Trevelyan. She had been hiding in the loft above his office, where his _bed_ was, and leapt down. Perfectly-justified paranoia rose up his throat as she smirked at him. She stood from her crouching position and spoke immediately—contempt dripping from her every word.

“Long time no see, Knight-Captain. I must say I’m unimpressed by your accommodations. Hole in your roof. The floor. How untenable.”

Clearly, she was still angry. Antagonistic. Immature. Maker, this woman was insufferable. 

“What were you doing up there?” Cullen demanded. “You are not permitted to-,” 

“Not permitted?” she began, feigning offense. “I thought we were _all_ members of the Inquisition. How could you have so little trust in me?” 

“You are a thief,” he said. “And on very thin ice.” 

“Oh, _I’m_ on thin ice?” she replied, stepping closer to him. She looked the same as she had in Kirkwall—she was older, obviously; her skin was red along her cheeks, there were faint imprints of wrinkles around her eyes, face weathered by the past decade.

“Tell me, Knight-Captain, have you made any mages Tranquil lately?” 

“That is no longer my title,” he snapped. 

“My apologies, _Commander_ ,” she said acridly. “Though I must say I’m surprised you didn’t relinquish your role the minute the Inquisitor sided with the mages in Haven. Or maybe you stuck around to continue to monitor them since they clearly can’t be trusted to monitor themselves.” 

Cullen clenched his fist. “That is enough, _Lady Trevelyan_ ,” he growled. “I have no interest in rehashing the past with you. I am not that man any longer, and I will not be discussing it any further.” 

“Convenient,” she sneered. “That you get to forget. Pretend none of that ever happened.” 

“I never forget,” he said in a low voice. 

Katria flexed her fingers, then pressed her palm to his breastplate with a warning shove, light, but her disdain was still obvious. “Neither do I.” 

Cullen scowled. He had enough stress in his life, enough pain, enough _shit_ to deal with. Katria antagonizing him was an added burden he did not need, and that was clearly her plan. 

“I will do everything in my power to ensure that the Inquisitor knows how untrustworthy you are,” he said.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll prove nothing.” 

Cullen turned from her to his desk. There was clearly no purpose in continuing their conversation if she wanted to act like _this_. She would get no apologies from him either. “I have far too much work to do to tolerate your company.” 

“I understand,” Katria replied nonchalantly. “There are always mages to oppress, fellow Templars to corrupt.” 

He exhaled, barely concealing the frustrated noise he made in the back of his throat. Maker’s _breath_ she grated his nerves. It was worse than Sera. This was no good-natured ribbing. It was deep-seated anger that she wielded like one of her daggers. 

“Goodbye, Trevelyan,” he said, gesturing sharply towards the door. 

Fortunately, she complied, stalking towards the exit before she looked back over her shoulder, dark hair falling in front of her face. 

“Your jacket is hideous.” 

“You look old,” he snapped back, though he hated that his comment reduced him to a petulant child. 

Katria just gave a sharp laugh in reply and slammed the door as she left. He was relieved when she was gone, his fists unclenching. As he suspected, that had gone very poorly. Skyhold was supposed to be a safe place, but between the visiting, insistent nobles and a still-bitter Katria, he was surrounded by enemies.

===

Katria reported to the rookery where Leliana handled her affairs, only after she had felt that Cullen was sufficiently riled up. Perhaps it was childish, but seeing that uptight hard-ass succumb to his irritation was immensely satisfying. It’s not like she could do anything else to make him pay for what had happened in Kirkwall. 

Commander Cullen was highly revered in the Inquisition. His men gushed about their loyalty and his skills and it made her so _angry_. Did they not know who he was? What he had done? Sure, he looked like some perfect, morally righteous, Chantry boy with a reprehensible set of armor, but Katria knew his true nature, the consequences of his actions. He was no hero.

It did not matter what had happened in Kirkwall after she and Clara left. So what if Cullen finally stood up to Meredith? Why did it matter that he sided with the Champion of Kirkwall in the end? That did not reverse Maddox’s Tranquility, or vindicate Samson’s years of unnecessary suffering. Nor did it rectify any of the other wrongs he’d committed under the delusion that Meredith was doing what was right. Cullen might have found clarity before he left Kirkwall, but that did not make what he had done forgivable. Though, by that line of logic, it did not make _her_ forgivable for all the trouble she’d caused, either. 

Katria rounded the rickety steps to the top of the tower. The area was busy, filled with scouts and squawking ravens, their cries echoing up the stone walls. Leliana was at a table off to the side, methodically combing through a stack of reports. 

Katria stopped in front of her, and she lifted her head, eyes hard. 

“I have license to kill you if you betray our cause or continue to steal,” she said. 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice to meet you too, Sister Nightingale.”

Leliana pursed her lips. “I will not pretend that at first I wasn’t wary about the Inquisitor’s decision,” she said. “But I have collected enough information about you to dispel _some_ of my concerns.” 

“You collected information about me that quickly?” she asked. 

“I dug into your past the minute you were taken into custody,” Leliana explained. “It was…enlightening, to say the least. You chose to abandon your noble life to eke out a living as a criminal with quite the vendetta against Templars.” 

“I am a _petty_ criminal, thank you very much, and I did not _abandon_ ¬-,” Katria stopped and grunted. There was no use in justifying her decisions. “Listen, I made some poor choices in my youth, but I don’t think that should disqualify me from being able to help.” She frowned. “The Inquisition has taken plenty of people into its employ with questionable pasts.” 

Leliana folded her arms over her chest. “You are referring to Commander Cullen? He mentioned you two knew each other.” 

“In Kirkwall,” Katria said. “I’m sure you’re aware of his record there.” 

Her face remained stoic. “Many people are using the Inquisition as their chance to atone.” 

She snorted. “A person can’t atone if they haven’t _changed_.” 

Leliana circled the table so they were standing in front of one another. Katria did not back away; many people were intimidated by the Inquisition’s Spymaster, but she would not be. 

“And why exactly are _you_ here, Lady Trevelyan?” Leliana asked. “Your parents are dead, you have no inheritance, no connections, only a past of consorting with Templars and traveling with mercenaries. What are you hoping to find?”

“It’s Katria. I haven’t been Lady Trevelyan in more than ten years. To answer your question, I’m here to repay my debts,” she replied simply. “And if I can help stop this exceptionally grumpy darkspawn magister from taking over the world? I suppose that would make for a good story in the taverns.” 

“I see,” Leliana said. “It is up to the Inquisitor whether she wishes for you to travel with her. Until then, you will train my scouts.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do not construe this as a compliment, but I am aware of your skills and intend to take advantage of them.” 

Katria grinned. “You’re too kind.” 

“I assure you I’m not,” Leliana said, then turned and gestured to one of her men. “Rector will escort you to your room, then to the Undercroft to be fitted with a new set of armor. Your training session will commence tomorrow at dawn. Your recruits will be assembled in the courtyard. They will refer to you as Scout Trevelyan, which is your interim rank in the Inquisition, provided you behave.” 

Katria blanched because she detested titles, then saluted Leliana across the chest, trying not to look overly sarcastic. “As you say, my lady.” 

Leliana was not amused. Everyone in this damn Inquisition was so _serious_. 

“We will be watching you,” she said in an even voice.

“Well I hope you will like what you see,” Katria replied with a wink. 

Leliana made a disgusted noise, then turned away with a wave of her hand. Katria smiled, then followed her agent back down the stairs. At least while repaying her debts, she would get to have a little fun teasing these insufferably serious people. Especially Cullen.


	8. Chapter 8

Katria was given more flexibility in Skyhold than she expected. Or perhaps she just was not aware of the ways in which she was being watched. Either way, she was permitted to walk to any part of the castle, even leave it, if she wished. 

Rather than explore, Katria spent most of her time in the tavern. It was an excellent place to meet members of the Inquisition she could actually tolerate. Ellana’s companions—the Iron Bull, Varric, Sera—were much more fun to be around than anyone else she had met. And while that Tevinter, Dorian, at first seemed entirely too _academic_ , his tastes in wine and spirits proved to be something they could actually talk about. 

When she was not loitering by the bar, she helped assist in the training of Leliana’s recruits. Luckily, that did not involve much interaction with Cullen. He tried quite hard to avoid her, and succeeded at that because he was so damn consumed in his work. Katria did not mind; defeating this darkspawn magister would take time, leaving plenty of opportunity to interact—annoy—Cullen. 

Except that in noticing him in passing, it _had_ occurred to her he was…more handsome than she remembered. Surely his shoulders had not always been so broad, or his jaw so square. It in no way enticed her to stop hating him, but, Maker, who gave him the right to be so attractive? 

Katria left Skyhold about two weeks after her release from the dungeons to explore and find solitude. The area was vast, but she figured it would be best to become familiar with it in case of an emergency. She had learned over the years to always have a contingency plan. 

There was a line of trees near the bottom of the mountains, and she stopped there. These were not the dense forests of Ferelden she was used to, but it was comforting to be back outside, not surrounding by so many people. So many frantically religious people at that. 

She was not the only person in the small forest. There was the silhouette of a person cast across the snow—they were lounging on a high branch, visible because the cold had withered the leaves and left the branches barren. 

Katria carefully climbed up the same tree, stopping on a sturdy branch and peering up to get a closer look at who was perched above her. 

Of all people, she did not expect to find the Inquisitor. Ellana was kept under close watch, and the fact that she had escaped here was peculiar. 

“What are you doing?” Katria asked. 

Ellana jolted in surprise, grabbing the tree for balance and looking down. “What—oh,” she said. “It’s you. Trevelyan.” 

“Katria,” she replied, settling down against the truck and stretching her feet along the branch she was rested on. “Are you alright?” 

Ellana exhaled. “I’m…fine. I simply wanted to-,” 

“Get away?” she finished, folding her fingers across her stomach. “You’re Dalish, right? Forest like this must provide comfort.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’m here, at least. I’ve spent so long outside camping and traveling that sitting in that damn castle surrounded by people is…jarring.” 

Ellana was silent for a few moments before she replied, her voice soft. “Yes.” 

Katria gave a short laugh. “You know at first I thought it was hilarious they called you the Herald. Of _Andraste_. You’ve spent your life surrounded by elves, and then all these humans start worshipping you.” 

“It was odd,” Ellana said. “To be a ‘knife-ear’ for so long, then suddenly because I’ve got some mark on my hand I’m _Your Worship_.” She leaned forward, peering down at Katria wearily. “Did you come here looking for me?” 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “No, I did not.” She shrugged. “You may not trust me, but you don’t have to be guarded around me. I have no nefarious political motives or desire to leverage your influence for my own good. I’m here to fight and pay you back because I acknowledge that my theft was wrong.” 

“Bull said you were good,” Ellana remarked. “With your blades. That you’re doing helpful work with my recruits.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “I promised I was the best, didn’t I?” 

“Forgive me for not believing you at first,” she said, then plucked a shriveled leaf off the branch beside her, rolling it between her fingers until it disintegrated. “You don’t exactly radiate trust.” 

“I radiate _skill_ ,” Katria replied. “And apathy, but considering some of the people I’ve met here that probably isn’t a bad thing.” 

Ellana grinned. “Yes, I can’t say I’ve been too impressed with the nobles I’ve met. They're always _scheming_.”

She looked up. “Do you like it overall? Being the Inquisitor?” 

“I want to help,” Ellana said. “And…if this is how I can help, I’ll do it.” 

“Very noble of you,” Katria remarked. “I don’t know that I could handle it.” 

She sighed. “It’s not so bad. You should see my quarters. Josephine just renovated them. I’ve never slept in a bed so comfortable in my life.” 

Katria laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I slept in a real bed and not a roll.” She shifted. “This tree branch is more my venue, though I could never get as high as you. I am neither small nor lithe enough. Or sober enough, probably.” 

Ellana snorted. “You, Sera and Iron Bull spend _far_ too much time in that tavern.” 

“It’s the only place in Skyhold one can actually have fun, I can assure you.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, you’re not so bad.” 

“What did you expect?” Katria asked. “I mean, I stole some coin, but that doesn’t make me a monster. I can be friendly. Or fun to be around. Just don’t ask Cullen.” 

“Come to the Western Approach with me then,” Ellana said. “I received a report about a mercenary group called the White Claw Raiders that are causing trouble there. Their leader is a talented rouge—you can help me stop her from hassling our troops.”

“Wow, so generous of you to invite me a humid, blighted desert,” Katria replied sarcastically. 

Ellana huffed. “You don’t have to-,” 

“No, no,” she cut in, waving her hand. “I want to. Teaching is fun, but traveling is better.” Plus, it would annoy Cullen to no end that the Inquisitor trusted her enough to bring her along. Or at least that Ellana was intrigued enough by her to see how useful her skills could be. 

“Good,” Ellana said. “I could use your help out there.” 

Katria slumped back against the trunk of the tree—not too comfortable, the bark dug into her coat, but it’s not like she wasn’t used to it. She tilted her head back with an sigh. Going to the Western Approach would be good. The more traveling, the better. The less Cullen the better, too, probably. Anything to distract her from the sadness she was trying so hard to forget about. 

=== 

In the mornings, Cullen spent a lot of time walking in and out of his office along the battlements. It gave him a bird’s eye view of the courtyard, where Katria would instruct their scouts. He did not increase his trips outside his office _because_ of that. Or at least, he tried not to make it obvious, but if this woman was going to insist she was somehow the best, he was going to evaluate her claim. 

After about three weeks, he had to eventually conclude that she was...talented. But worse, she was making _friends_. Which normally he would not care about, but seeing her laughing away in the tavern with Bull and Sera and Dorian, so _unserious_ , irked him because it meant she would stick around. He did not need her continuing to loiter around Skyhold, deceiving everyone with this friendly, nonchalant illusion, when in reality Katria was only disdainful and immature. She was exactly the kind of woman who worsened his constant headaches. 

One morning, he was crossing the battlements to the War Room when he saw her below him in the courtyard, surrounded by three or four Templars in full plate mail. Cullen stopped abruptly, then spun on his heel and marched down the nearest set of stairs. Katria and Templars? Not a good combination. This wasn’t Kirkwall—he was in charge here and she would not be meddling in Skyhold like she did there. 

“Trevelyan,” he snapped when he was close enough to her. 

She met his gaze, lip turning up in her stupid, mischievous smile. She walked away from the group towards him. “Commander Cullen, how can I help you?” 

“What are you doing with these Templars?” he asked. “They have their own duties. Training in the barracks.” 

Katria raised one eyebrow. “What am I doing?” she began, then shook her head. “Clearly I’m standing in the middle of a courtyard trying to seduce four Templars at once.” 

“I would not put that past you,” he replied sourly. 

She rolled her eyes. “Maker’s balls, you’ve done such an excellent job leaving me alone, Knight-Captain, and then the minute I’m within ten feet of a Templar-,” 

“Excuse me for being wary considering your _history_ ,” he cut in. 

“Oh so when you’re around a mage I’m supposed to rush forward slinging around accusations?” she snapped. “Because of your history?” 

Cullen huffed. “That is completely unrelated to-,” 

She flung her hand back out to the Templars and her scouts. “I will have you know, _Commander_ , that this group will be leaving for the Hinterlands soon, where the mage-Templar conflict is still at large.” Her hand dropped to her side, now clenched in a fist. “I did a little reading and discovered that most of the injuries sustained by Inquisition scouts are in isolation and from warriors. They don’t know how to engage with soldiers in full-plate armor because up until now we’ve only been teaching stealth.” 

His brow arched in. “So what?” he said. “You’re encouraging them to engage in direct combat with warriors? That’s— _reckless_.” 

“I’m not encouraging it,” Katria protested. “But when it inevitably happens, they should be prepared.” 

“They should evade conflict at any cost, especially if they’re alone.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should have more faith in this style of combat.” 

Cullen rested his hand on his sword, drawing himself to full height, though it occurred to him she was far too tall to be intimidated by that. Another reason why it was so illogical she was a rogue. 

“I have plenty of faith in it,” he said. “For particular purposes. One of which is not successfully fighting someone in full armor alone.” 

“I can do it,” Katria pointed out. 

Cullen snorted. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you can show-off here by disarming a few young Templars who have hardly faced any real combat.” 

“What are you saying?” she asked, while pulling her elegantly curved dagger from her back. She spun it, wrist upturned, and tapped the end against his breastplate. “Should I be demonstrating my skills in front of a _real_ warrior? Like you?”

He gave a harsh laugh. “I cannot be baited, Trevelyan, I can assure you.” He cleared his throat. “Though, to answer your question, yes, in one on one combat I would best you. Clearly.” 

“Clearly?” she said incredulously. “Why don’t you prove it, then? If it’s so obvious?” 

“I am too busy to indulge you,” he replied with a skeptical look. 

Katria stepped back, dagger flipping around her hand. “Of course. I assume you’d rather use what little free time you have to oppress mages.” 

Every one of his muscles spasmed when she said things like that¬—antagonizing him to no end, his body tensing more each time because he just wanted to throttle her. 

“I will not be provoked,” Cullen ground out. 

“Doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying,” she replied with a smirk, then she shrugged. “Though I suppose if you actually beat me I could be persuaded to stop being so-,” 

“Annoying?” 

“Charming,” she countered. “Plenty of people in the Inquisition find me quite charming. Ellana included.” 

Cullen grunted—she was referring to the fact that the Inquisitor had invited Katria to the Western Approach. He hated the growing closeness between them; Ellana was far too nice for her own good. Her kindness was inspiring, but she didn’t have to be that way to Katria. So what they both liked the outdoors? Katria could not be trusted, especially as a member of Ellana’s Inner-Circle. 

Cullen folded his arms over his chest, scrutinizing her. He was confident in his ability to beat her, obviously. She was too tall to be fast, and he was stronger and in better armor. She—her body was—well, he wasn’t going to think about that. Those parts of her body that could be construed as attractive if she weren’t so obnoxious. 

“Oh, come on, Commander,” she said, tapping her dagger against his armor again. “A little spar won’t kill you. Most likely.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Or is that what the coat is for? It’s so hideous no one can look at you long enough to swing a sword?” 

“That was weak,” Cullen snapped. “But— _fine_.” He began unfastening his sword from his belt, though he’d like to use a sharpened blade on her. “I shall show your recruits how impractical your ideas are.” 

Katria tossed her own daggers aside to retrieve blunted ones. She waved her recruits to the side, then hiked over the fence into the sparring ring. 

“Commander Cullen has been gracious enough to volunteer to get his ass kicked,” Katria announced. 

He used the gate to enter the ring, frowning. “Actually, Lady Trevelyan will be learning a valuable lesson about how one’s _ego_ does not protect against getting bashed in with a shield.” He stood in front of her with his own sparring sword. “Bashed in the head, preferably,” he muttered under his breath.

She heard him and grinned, gesturing him forward with her dagger with a wiggle of her eyebrows. Cullen exhaled slowly, hand tight around his sword. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he said, and they began. 

He went to strike first because he knew she’d hang back. Like Cullen suspected, she was not fast, and only avoided his blow because she knew which way to pivot, but she was lithe, certainly, and moved gracefully. After their blades met three more times, and she maneuvered out of his reach and then back into the offensive so smoothly, he realized that it was _intelligence_ that made her a worthy opponent. She pressed her advantage in combat by knowing exactly what her opponent would do next. Anticipation. Foresight. That is how she emerged victorious. 

Cullen could do that too. They were locked in a game of chess—a physical game with more sweat and force, but with the same laser-focus and glint in their eyes. Plus, he was stronger. He could overpower her. Pin her down and make her _yield_ like he’d wanted to do so badly. 

His sword swung out wide and she leapt back, then immediately dove forward with one of her daggers. He blocked her with his shield, then jabbed his sword again. The constant and ephemeral _clang_ of metal rang in his ears. She met him stroke for stroke—fast and smart, face tense from concentration, long legs drawing elaborate patterns in the dirt as she circled him. 

Katria would tire soon; he knew this. To block his hits, she needed both her daggers parrying him, and though his arm burned, she was doing more work. 

Eventually she was trying to strike him, in the offensive, her feet kicking up dust and drawing wide arcs in the ring as she moved behind him. She was not afraid to press in close, and when she did, he swung at her, forcing her to duck. 

When she rose to her feet, he slammed his shield hard into her chest. He heard her, and their spectators, inhale at the loud _thump_ her body made. She fell to the ground, skidding through the dirt in a cloud of dust. 

His lip quirked up in a small smile—why he was satisfied he knocked the shit out of her he did not know, but he was. Except she took the hit exceptionally well; maybe that sort of thing had happened a lot to her. 

She flipped over to her feet and before the dust even settled, she was barreling towards him. Cullen thrust his sword forward. She ducked right, but did not try to strike him, did not attempt to bury her sword in the weak space at the bottom of his breastplate like he expected. She flew past him in a blur; he felt something kick him in the back of his leg before he could turn, and he staggered forward, pain shooting through his knee as it hit the ground. 

She would bring her dagger to his throat from behind, so Cullen snapped his neck back, bashing his skull into her nose. Not polite or nice or technically allowed in a duel, but he’d do it if he was about to lose to _her_. 

Katria cried out and staggered back. He pivoted on his knee and tossed his shield aside. She was off-guard and with one hit, he would win. Be _triumphant_.

Cullen raised his sword up, but instead of parrying his blow, Katria crossed her daggers and pressed them against his vambrace, shoving his arm up. 

Apparently there was an advantage to her size and height because she shot forward and used enough force to make them tumble to the ground. Her daggers buried themselves in the ground, trapping his sword hand under where they were crossed. He could have pulled his arm free if she weren’t crushing his wrist with her foot while she sat on his breastplate. How was she so flexible? 

Cullen tried to move his other arm, to throw her off him, but then there was a dagger at his throat; a _real_ dagger, and he froze. 

Katria lifted her foot from his arm, settling it back against the ground, knees straddling his waist. Maker, she was tough. Her hair had fallen in front of her face, in complete disarray from where it had been tightly pinned before, the roots by her temple matted with sweat like the rest of her. He’d split her lip, and blood trickled down her chin, until she spit on the ground beside them, her teeth red. Not particularly noble or lady-like. 

She leaned closer to him, and he wanted to scowl, except that she rolled her hips in…in some _way_. Arched her back so her— _that_ area rubbed against his breeches, and his brow shot halfway up his forehead as she smiled at him.

He _knew_ what she was doing. The same thing she _always_ did. Some pathetic attempt to seduce any Templar she came across, and of course she’d want to get to him considering her feelings about his past. She did not like him; she wanted to cause pain.

“This is the part where you’d die,” she whispered to him, and he tried very hard to ignore the way the neckline of her tunic settled against his breastplate, the gap exposing the full line of her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts against—

He definitely needed something else to think about, and luckily, the recruits watching them began to murmur, one even clapped, and Katria lifted herself back up, still straddling him. 

She tapped her dagger against his breastplate. “What do I get now that I’ve won?” 

“Get off me,” he ordered, yanking his arm out from the grip of her daggers. They flopped to the dirt beside him. 

She smirked. “Are you sure that’s what you _really_ want?” 

“Now,” he growled, and she laughed, drawing herself up quite smoothly while he scrambled to his feet. His coat was covered in dirt and he cursed under his breath. She probably tackled him on purpose to ruin it. 

He grunted. “Good work, Trevelyan.” 

“A compliment, Knight-Captain?” she began, grinning. “Did you hit your head?” 

“Not my title,” he snapped as he bent down to pick up his shield. “And I have no problem with acknowledging the fact that you are useful for instructing our scouts. One of my highest priorities is keeping my troops safe, and if you can teach them to fight like you…” He shrugged. “Well, they’ll be better off.” 

Katria turned to him and narrowed her eyes. She cocked her head before speaking. “Oh.” Her mouth opened, but no further words came out, until she waved her hand. “I mean, thank you.” 

She walked to the edge of the sparring ring without another word, wiping the blood from her chin, and Cullen followed her while trying to rub the dust off his coat.

“You are not permitted to use my men for your training if they have other duties,” he remarked. 

“Yes, Commander,” she said, tone dripping with sarcasm. Her arms folded across her chest. “If _you_ don’t have other duties, and your ego needs another beating, come by. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two.” 

Cullen snorted. He looked at her, the streak of dirt along her well-defined cheekbone. His lip ticked up as he reached for his real sword. He knew he should not be antagonizing her and yet…

“Trevelyan, you must have realized I let you win.” 

She was walking to her recruits, then spun on her heel, jaw dropping. “Let me win?” she began. “ _Let_ me?”

Cullen actually smiled. She was as competitive as he was, and there was nothing worse than telling a competitive person that you let them win. He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword with a smug look. 

“Trevelyan,” he said, while nodding to the rest of the recruits. 

She glared at him, and he doubted he’d been more satisfied in the past week.


	9. Chapter 9

Katria, Solas, and Cassandra accompanied Ellana to the Western Approach. Which, unfortunately for Katria, was not a very fun group to travel with. Solas talked entirely too much about the Fade while Ellana listened with rapt attention, and Cassandra was far too similar to Cullen to tolerate Katria’s “glibness,” as the Seeker called it. 

As they trekked through Orlais, they stopped in the Emerald Graves. Ellana was greatly revered everywhere she went; the mark she had gave her a tremendous air of power. Such a small, waif of a girl commanded the attention of everyone she passed, and she was gracious about it, to her credit. Always willing to help those less fortunate than her, no matter how trivial the problem. Katria approved. 

While they were in the Graves, they discovered that the Inquisition troops camped there were having trouble with both the Freeman of the Dales and another mercenary group raiding their supply caravans. Ellana wanted to stop to help solve the problem, so they trekked out into the forest searching for the rebel camps. Katria did not mind the detour—the longer they stayed away from the humid desert, the better. 

Katria had some hunches about where the Freemen or mercenaries might hide based on what she’d learned about the landscape of the area from a few scouts. She set out in the morning to do some searching; alone, because she preferred it that way, especially now since everyone she cared for was…no longer around. She did not let herself think about that. 

The forests of the Graves were dense, vibrant. Haunting. It was a dramatic change from the constant bustle of life in Skyhold. She weaved her way through the massive trees and the vines matted around them, looking for a cliff-side outcrop where she suspected some mercenaries may be hiding. 

As she crept through the forest close to their camp, she heard the rustle of leaves and a small laugh. Katria peered around the trunk of a tree. Solas was there, his tunic bright against the foliage around him, holding Ellana by her waist. His romantic intentions were very clear, and Katria narrowed her eyes. She supposed it made _some_ sense that they were interested in one another. Ellana was kind, fascinated by history; they were both mages who enjoyed traveling the Fade. Katria hadn’t bothered to learn much more about Solas because they didn’t exactly get along. 

Solas reached down and brushed Ellana’s cheek with his slender fingers. Katria loudly cleared her throat from behind them, and they both jumped.

“Katria!” Ellana squeaked out, hazel eyes wide, before she smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you.” 

She grinned. “No one ever does,” she said. “I’m on the way to scope out some spots I think mercenaries might be hiding out.” 

“Alone?” she began, turning completely. “You won’t engage with them, will you?” 

Katria shook her head. “No, I suppose I’m not _that_ reckless.” 

Solas snorted, and she quirked a warning eyebrow at him. He squeezed Ellana’s arm before nodding farewell to them both and heading back to the trail that led to camp. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Ellana asked. 

Katria walked over to her. “I’m fine,” she said, then paused and crossed her arms. “However, I did not expect to find you out here with your previous company.” 

“I…like Solas,” she replied with a bashful shrug. 

“Yes, but— _him_?” Katria began incredulously. “You don’t think he’s too…old? Stuffy?” 

Ellana laughed. “I know he’s not _your_ type, but he’s wise and kind. Age doesn’t matter to me. I just-,” She stopped and fiddled with her hair. “I was so frightened when I first arrived in Haven, and he was there to help me, to comfort me. It’s probably not wise for me to be with anyone, but…” 

“For the record, I do not have a _type_ ,” Katria interjected. “Second, when you say you’re with Solas, you—you haven’t slept with him, have you? Because I hope you’re being safe-,” 

Ellana reddened. “Are you _mothering_ me? You’re only—what, like ten years older than I am?” 

“Sorry,” Katria said. “Force of habit.” 

She furrowed her brow. “You’re a mother?” 

“Uh—no,” she replied hastily. “I mean, no.” She reached up and scratched the back of her head; her sadness would break her soon. It would. “I should go. Out. Scouting.” 

“Alright,” Ellana said, giving her an odd look. “Let me know if you find anything.” 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” she replied. She made it one step before stopping and turning. “Just—be careful with Solas, alright? I want you to be happy, but you’re in a position of power now, and his background is so obscure and-,” 

Ellana reached out and put her hand on her arm. “I appreciate your concern,” she said. “I will be okay.” 

“Good,” Katria replied gruffly, eyes averted, because _feelings_ were not a part of her normal communication. But Ellana was kind and good and didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of. 

Katria gave a final wave before disappearing back into the forest. She followed a wide river along its pebbled bank, stopping periodically to ensure she was not entering into dangerous territory. She’d read the Inquisition report on this area: red Templars, Freeman, giants, Fade rifts—not problems _she_ could address on her own. 

There was a very tall rock face along one side of the river; it was wide enough for there to be some well-disguised caves or hiding spots. She was hiking up a small hill to get to a better vantage point when she heard twigs cracking behind her. 

Katria reached into her coat, hand around her knife, and spun around. There was no one there. She heard the rustle of leaves somewhere else, then a heavy weight slammed into her and sent her rolling back down the hill. 

She gained her bearings quickly—a person had attacked her, and she reached for their arm, twisted it, then spun out of their grasp as they came to a stop. Her knife was balanced in her palm. 

When the man who had attacked her lifted his head, Katria cursed. 

“Maker’s-,” Her hand flopped to her side. “ _Derek_?” 

The man scrambled to his feet, tanned brow furrowing. “Katria?” he began incredulously. “What are you—you’re supposed to be in Ferelden!” 

She put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I _knew_ it,” she muttered. “I knew when I saw that damned caravan that _you_ had been the one attacking it. You can't step foot in Orlais without _terrorizing_ someone.” 

He brushed the dirt off his coat. “You can’t possibly be surprised by that. The Inquisition is incredibly well-supplied, and their caravans are prime targets for our...skill set.” 

His mercenary company's _skill set_ was raiding and thieving and being general arses, but Katria ignored that for the moment. “Yes, but-,” She sighed impatiently. “They’re nice. They’re trying to save Thedas.” 

Derek raised his hand and gave a small laugh. “Hold on. I’m confused. The last time we spoke you were going to Haven for the _express_ purpose of stealing from them.” He narrowed his eyes. “We haven’t heard from you in months, and now you think they’re _nice_? Righteous?”

“I got caught-,” 

He smirked. “Of course you did.” 

“Shut up,” she snapped. “I’m repaying my debts to them, and—and just for the record, I _do_ approve of what they’re doing.” 

Derek crossed his arms, frowning. “Your allegiance remains with _us_ , Katria. You still owe me after all these years, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Katria looked away, at the brown and emerald tones under her boots. Derek was an arse, but she’d known him since she left Kirkwall, and he was the closest thing she had to family.

She’d been bound to his service as a part of his mercenary group for a long time. Nine years ago, Katria and Clara had left Kirkwall almost penniless. Katria had no skills except her ability to fight, and with Clara a mage, she could not be a soldier for an arl; she needed work under the table that involved plenty of travel in order to keep Clara hidden. That meant being a mercenary and doing unsavory things for almost five years, so that Clara had food and shelter.

Derek saw fit to assume even years later that Katria still had a debt to pay to him for keeping her and Clara alive, but after the Conclave, Katria had maintained disparate contact at best. Derek left her alone as long as she kept sending coin. 

“I sent you plenty of the money that I stole,” she protested. 

“Yes,” he replied. “Because you’re a part of our team. Not the Inquisition.” 

Katria sheathed her dagger back on her belt. “Here’s a thought: I’m on _no one’s_ team.” 

Derek stepped closer to her, and she gave him a wary look. His hand rose to her cheek. 

“I heard about what happened to Clara.” 

Katria slapped his hand away. Hard. “I know that look on your face, you prick,” she snapped. “Don’t try and seduce me while also talking about _that_.” 

He scowled. “Well it’s worked before.”

It had, technically. Katria had never been in love, never _wanted_ to be in love in a serious way with any man, but—but she and Derek had spent a number of years a long time ago being lovers. Which was fine. And not related to emotion. Even if she’d seen Derek enough to have _some_ personal attachment to him, he wasn’t an ethical man. Or even a nice one. 

“You’re such as arse,” Katria muttered, as she turned away from him, thumb sliding along her cheek. “The Inquisition is coming after the mercenaries who keep attacking their supply caravans.” 

Derek snorted. “You’re not going to turn us in.” 

“I won’t if you leave now,” she said. “Get out of the Emerald Graves, stop targeting the Inquisition.” 

“Oh, really? You’re giving me orders?” 

Katria threw her hand sharply out. “I’m giving you a choice. Either you leave now and cease your activities, or I will be forced to return to the Inquisitor’s camp and bring her soldiers here. They will hunt you down.” 

Derek shook his head. “You have such a penchant for the dramatic.”

“I swear to the Maker I will do it,” she said. 

He combed his hand through his shaggy hair. “Fine, kitten-,” 

“I will _throttle_ you, Derek.” 

He smiled impishly because apparently he loved how much she _hated_ that nickname. “We will leave,” he said. “Not because you told me to, though.” His expression turned smug. “Got some correspondence about an Orlesian Duke that wants to hire some mercenaries. Wycome. We’re leaving soon.”

Katria waved her hand impatiently. “Yes, congratulations. Just get out of here and leave the Inquisition alone, alright?” She tried to push back some of her unruly hair behind her ears—it always fell so easily from its tie. “Consider this a favor. Enough of one for you to leave me alone for the time being.” 

“For the time being,” he said, eyebrow raised. “You’ll likely get some good stock from helping this Inquisitor, and I expect a cut.” 

“Once it’s all over,” she assured him, though she was probably lying. Yet, she’d tried to escape Derek’s influence before, and he’d always had ways of finding her. 

Katria looked around the eerily quiet forest. “I need to get out of here. The Inquisitor will start wondering where I am. Gather everyone up and leave now if you can.” 

Derek pulled out his dagger and spun it around his finger. “You sure you don’t want to come along, kitten?” 

“I can’t,” she said. “I told you, I have debts to pay to the Inquisition, and they’d look for me if I left.” She glared at him. “I can’t say I’m missing your company anyway.” 

“Suit yourself,” he said with a grin. 

Katria stepped back and sighed. “Stay out of trouble, Derek.” 

He disappeared back into the shadows with a nod of his head, and Katria followed suit in the opposite direction, pinching the bridge of her nose as she walked. She had operated for a long time as a person who stored all her thorny, emotional issues under the surface. _Far_ under. 

When she was in Haven, she didn’t think about the fact that she was stealing, or sending money to a mercenary group that had indentured her for almost a decade. She didn’t think about Clara. Cullen. All the painful emotions and guilt dredged up from being around Templars. 

But now there were far too many things simmering there—her past was so utterly tangled up in her attempts to do good it seemed impossible to accomplish anything. 

Katria growled a few obscenities under her breath before returning to the camp and informing the Inquisitor that she had found no sign of the bandits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Katria my precious problematic cinnamon roll. Short-ish chapter, but the good news is, I should have the next one out within the next two days! Thanks as always for y'all's support and wonderful comments! They keep me going!


	10. Chapter 10

To Cullen’s chagrin, Katria and the Inquisitor returned from the Western Approach triumphant. He was generally pleased about their progress in the area: fighting Venatori, establishing bases, but Katria had trotted through the portcullis in Skyhold looking so _smug_ about it. 

He wanted the trip to have been a social disaster between the two of them; he wanted Ellana to realize how untrustworthy and glib Katria was, but it seemed as if they got along better than ever. Not as well as Ellana got along with Solas, but it was clear the Inquisitor enjoyed Katria’s company. 

Once her companions returned and were settled, Katria began her morning lessons again, using his Templars and other warriors on a volunteer basis. Many of his men volunteered. Unfortunately. 

He never chose to challenge her to a rematch, as much as he wanted to. He preferred to keep his distance, seeing how much Katria continued to irk him. His patience would wear thin eventually, and he didn’t want to do anything he might regret. 

About two weeks after the Inquisitor’s return from the Western Approach, Cullen was descending the stairs by the tavern. He’d seen from the battlements that the portcullis was opening and assumed it was a small contingent of Templars from Hasmal that were to arrive that day—they were one of the few groups of Templars who had not followed the Lord Seeker to Therinfall Redoubt, and thus had not fallen into Samson’s clutches. 

He knew it was in his best interests to be around when they first arrived, especially since Skyhold was populated by a large number of mages. He crossed the muddy courtyard, passing the sparring ring where two scouts were practicing while Katria watched from outside. She paid no attention to him. 

Cullen reached the stone steps leading to the lower courtyard, but the Templars had already ascended to meet him: a small group, maybe only about five, led by an older man in light armor. 

“Commander Cullen,” the man said with a salute. 

Cullen did not have a chance to reply. One of the Templars, a woman, with a bow strapped to her back, raced forward, knocking him in the shoulder with such force as she passed that he staggered to the side. 

She barreled towards the sparring ring. Katria heard her footsteps and turned, but not in time to do anything except cry out when the woman grabbed her tied-back hair and yanked her to the ground. 

Mud splattered everywhere, the woman pinning Katria down, fist first clumsily smashing into her chest before her hand opened to clamp around her throat. 

When he overcame the initial shock of the situation, Cullen leapt to action and rushed over, but the woman had already been pried off by Katria’s scouts. The other Templars came right behind him. 

“Hodson!” one of them sputtered. “What are you doing?” 

The woman was trapped between two soldiers, held back firmly as she squirmed, expression ferocious. “You stupid noble _bitch_!” she snarled. 

Katria stumbled to her feet; her coat was slick with mud and her shoulders heaved as she tried to regain her breath. “I don’t…” 

“Do you remember?” Hodson demanded angrily. “The Ostwick Circle? My brother? You fucked him and made him break the rules and then they _kicked him out_!” She lurched forward, but did not get far. “No more lyrium. It _killed_ him. And you just left!” 

Katria did not reply, though her face was as pale as he’d ever seen it. 

Cullen stepped forward. “That’s enough,” he snapped. “We will sort this out later.” He looked to the scouts holding her. “Take her to the dungeons to cool down.” 

“Yes, ser,” they said in unison. 

Cullen directed his attention to the other Templars. “Surely you understand why I’ve sent her there for now. We welcomed you here, and you have no right to assault members of the Inquisition.” 

“I do understand, Commander,” the Templar replied. “I will speak to her.” 

Cullen turned back to Katria. She was slouched over, one hand against the fence of the sparring ring, the other holding her throat. She swallowed as he got closer. 

“She’s right…” Her voice was hollow. “I don’t remember.” 

“Are you-,” 

Katria staggered away from him in a haze, murmuring an apology. She hurried towards the tavern, but instead of going in, went around to the back. Cullen took a few tentative steps, giving him enough of a vantage point to see her disappear in the bushes behind the building. Her back was pressed against the stone battlements as she collapsed on the ground and drew her knees to her face. 

Cullen…didn’t know what to do. He stood watching her for a few moments, then turned away back to the sparring ring, brow furrowed. That was intense. Quick. But also a reminder of all the wholly unethical things he’d learned about Katria in Kirkwall. 

A small part of him _sympathized_ with her. He didn’t want to admit it, but there were many mages in Thedas who could come before _him_ , making the same angry accusations about the things he’d done in his past. It would be jarring. He’d be upset in the same way Katria was now. 

But it’s not like Katria would want _his_ comfort about the incident. He did not even know if he wanted to _give_ it in the first place. She did not deserve to be attacked like that, but her attitude towards him had been _nothing_ but disdainful.

Cullen pushed away his thoughts as he returned to his office—Katria’s emotions were not a concern of his when he had work to do. He spent a few hours at his desk but had a headache after that. A tremendous one. Debilitating, like the others. The longer he’d been in Skyhold, the worse they’d gotten. He could not pinpoint _why_ , though he suspected it had to do with the amount of stress he was under. It piled on after Haven—he worked _so hard_ and had no…release. Nothing he enjoyed. Sometimes the tremors and aches were so bad he could hardly concentrate enough to play chess. 

The ache subsided eventually and became only a muted hum, in tune with the constant craving he had for lyrium that he despised. Neither were problems he could deal with now. 

After taking a trip to the barracks, Cullen sent one of his men down to the dungeons to check on Hodson. The soldier came back to report that Hodson had calmed down, renounced her actions, and then Cullen learned something surprising: Katria had already been to see the woman. Had offered an apology, of all things. Hodson was not impressed obviously. She spit in Katria’s face, but the point was, she’d done it. Apologized. It took guts.

The whole situation made Cullen groan and bury his face in his hands. If Katria of all people was apologizing for her actions, that perhaps meant that _he_ should too. He acknowledged that he had wronged her in Kirkwall—but why admit it? She was rude, fiery and malicious; he did not want to think about the stupid, smug smile she’d have on her face if he admitted she was right. 

It was nightfall before he officially decided to do anything—his good, ethical side prevailed, and he realized that Katria deserved an apology no matter how she treated him. It’s not like her life had been easy during that time either. She carried resentment. So did he.

Cullen went to find Katria, though that didn’t take much work because she was always in the tavern. When he walked through the door, the staleness of the scent of ale washed over him—most of the patrons around him were quite drunk at this time of night and very _loud_. Between Maryden’s singing, the clack of tankards and the raucous talking and cheering, he could hardly hear himself think. 

The tavern was a place to blow off steam, Cullen understood that. Maybe that’s why he avoided it so much, though in reality, he probably should come by more often. Maker knows he needed to do something to not feel so strained. 

Katria was in the corner on a stool, alone, nursing a tankard. Her eyes were downcast, hair falling past her face in tangled waves. 

She turned when he was near, her seat creaking. The minute she saw his face, her brow arched in, and she spun back around. 

“I don’t want to talk to _you_.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, then took a deep breath. He’d practiced this in his head many times. He was doubtful that would lead to any competent articulation on his part. “If you’ll give me just a moment, I’d like to apologize.” 

Katria was silent, but she did lift her head. A huff of a laugh left her lips. 

“Apologize?” 

“Yes.” Cullen cleared his throat. “I should have said something before. When you first arrived. I am not proud of the man I was in Kirkwall, and I hope you can forgive me for….” 

She turned after draining her drink. It must not have been her first one because her breath was sour from the alcohol. Not ale. Something stronger. “Really? You’re not proud you were an oppressive and incompetent zealot?” 

Cullen clenched his fist, determined to remain calm. “I know I should have questioned Meredith sooner. My distrust in mages was misplaced.” 

“Why are you saying this to _me_?” she snapped. 

He rubbed his neck. “Because I recognize that what happened in Darktown all those years ago was…my fault. I shouldn’t have fought you. I should have done more to ensure that the Circle was a safe place for Clara to go.” 

Her knuckles clenched her tankard until they were white. “That’s not all that happened, Cullen.” She leaned forward; there was more anguish on her face than he expected. “You _ruined_ people’s lives. My friends. Maddox was a good man who was in love and you….” 

Cullen inhaled, head inclined slightly downward. “I know. I should have stopped Meredith.” He hesitated. “I…stood against her in the end.” 

Katria jolted from her chair, scowling. She teetered slightly and put a hand against the table. “You think that helps?” she demanded. “You think that makes any fucking difference to Maddox? To Clara?” 

He furrowed his brow. “Clara? I-,” 

Her hands shot out to shove him. “You’re a liar and a coward.” 

Cullen stepped back. “I only came here to apologize,” he said. “Not make you angry. We have both done regrettable things in our past-,” 

“Don’t compare us,” she growled. 

“I’m sorry, Trevelyan,” he said, probably sounding too angry. “I am _sorry_. I cannot go back in time and fix these things, but I know that they were wrong. I am trying my hardest to atone and…” He met her gaze; her eyes were glassy. “I don’t want you to feel any hate towards me if we continue to work together. I only want civility.”

A barmaid had brought Katria another drink. A tumbler this time filled with brandy. She exhaled sharply through her nose, grabbed the glass, and flung its contents into Cullen’s face. 

He stumbled back, sputtering at the sharp, acrid taste of the alcohol on his lips. All over his _face_. His armor, too. Maker, it was going to _rust_. 

Cullen wiped his hand across his eyes, blinking away the stinging the brandy caused. Katria spoke before he could… _yell_ at her, probably. 

She threw the tumbler to the ground and it shattered between their feet. 

“Your apology means nothing,” she spat, voice saturated with rage. 

Katria shoved the chair beside her against the wall; it clattered to the floor and drew the attention of the other tavern patrons as she spun on her heel and marched away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Got a chapter out quickly. Hope ya'll enjoy!
> 
> (It's okay to be mad at Katria and think she was way out of line in this chapter. More to come. Much excite!)


	11. Chapter 11

Whatever kind of drink Katria had thrown at Cullen utterly saturated his coat. The fur needed a strong cleaning, and he went to his office and flung it off just to keep the scent from further invading his senses. It only worsened his headache.

After he shed the other pieces of his armor, he paced and then punched his bookshelf. It was at that moment he acknowledged that his anger was perhaps too _large_. But he was furious. This _terrible_ woman had the audacity to embarrass him in front of the entire tavern when he was trying to apologize. His position as Commander demanded respect, and how did she act? Like he was no better than dirt under her boot.

Cullen wanted to give her a piece of his mind. Or throttle her. Which is why he confined himself to his office, preening over his armor to make sure all the moisture had been removed from the metal. 

It was well past midnight, the candles on his desk burning low, when the door to his left flew open. It clattered against the wall, vibrating from the force, and Cullen shot up from his chair. 

Katria _staggered_ through the threshold; her hair had fallen completely, hanging limp past her shoulders. If it was possible, she was more drunk than she’d been before. 

Cullen frowned. “Out. Now.” 

“You’re awake,” she muttered. “Of course you are.” She was fairly articulate despite the fact that as she walked to his desk she stumbled against it. 

He crossed his arms. “There is no good reason for you to be here.” 

“That’s right because it’s a _great_ reason,” she said. “You need—you deserve to _pay_.” 

He shook his head. “I tried to apologize and you acted like a child,” he replied. “What more could you want?” 

Katria circled around the desk, and he stepped back. “It’s not fair!” she snapped, voice louder than it probably needed to be. “You get to be _sorry_ , and that’s all? Precious Commander Cullen and his little mistakes.” She shoved him again, hands firm against his chest now that he wasn’t wearing his breastplate. “You forget them, everyone loves you, you don’t fucking suffer!” 

“Don’t _suffer_?” he growled, automatically lurching forward. He stopped himself and turned away to the wall with his fists clenched so hard he left marks in his palm. He wouldn't think about Kinloch Hold. He wouldn't. “You-,” He took an angry breath. “You don’t even know the meaning of that word!” 

“You _caused_ my suffering!” she exclaimed. “Mine and—and the suffering of a child! You forced us out of Kirkwall, and I had to…do _terrible_ things.” Her brows knit together over her crinkled nose. “It’s your fault.” 

“It is _your_ fault,” Cullen shot back, and he stepped closer to her with his finger raised. “You want to believe you’re so different from me, but you’re not. I admit to my mistakes. Apparently you can’t be bothered to acknowledge the lives you’ve ruined.” 

“I have tried to make amends!” Katria protested sharply. 

He made a disgusted noise. “Like I believe you would take anything seriously,” he said. “You can hate me as much as you’d like, but remember to hate yourself just as much.” 

“You— _arse_!” She lunged at him, fists clenched, quite clumsily; the alcohol eroded away her typical grace in movement and her good sense, apparently. Her arms were outstretched, and he latched onto them.

Katria squirmed in his grasp—she was fairly strong—so he turned and pinned her against the stone wall behind him, fingers clenched around her upper-arms. The force he used knocked the air out of her lungs, and she gave a serrated gasp. 

She stuck her jaw out mulishly. “Go ahead,” she spat. “Hit me. I did it to you. Only fair that you get one back.” 

He squeezed her and grit his teeth. His eyes searched her face—her skin was flushed, eyes bloodshot, her lips bright red because they were chapped. 

“Hurting you would accomplish nothing,” Cullen eventually growled. 

Katria lifted her chin to better meet his gaze. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want to.” 

“That’s irrelevant,” he said. “I have plenty of restraint.” 

She moved fairly quickly, then, for her inebriated state. Her upper-arms were still pinned to her sides, but she reached out with her hands, clenching his tunic between her fingers and pulling them completely together. 

Cullen released one of her arms and moved his palm flat against the wall to catch himself. 

“What-,” 

Her leg curled around his. “Restraint?” she began, her now free hand sliding up his side. “Ah yes, I forgot that you’re _Commander Cullen_.” Her fingers were against his neck now; she could probably feel how fast his heart was beating. “So in _control_.”

Cullen made a half-hearted attempt to pull away; he wasn’t really sure what he wanted. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt a woman’s body molded this tightly to his. An attractive woman, even. One he was so angry at—Maker, he’d give anything to wipe that arrogant smile off her face. She wouldn’t be so smug if he had her pinned to the bed under him, writhing and begging him to please her and make her unravel in—

Cullen clenched his fist against the wall, fingers raw against the uneven stone. He cut himself off from those thoughts because that is _exactly_ what she wanted. She wanted to channel his anger into something destructive, something she could use against him. There was nothing pure or innocent about her motivations. He would not let anything happen…even if that’s what he wanted. 

“You’re not tempting me,” Cullen said, and it made her smile, her face so close to his, he could see each little wrinkle at the corner of her eyes. 

Her thumb scratched his jaw as she moved her palm closer to the nape of his neck. She was tall enough that she could lean forward and whisper into his ear without standing on her toes. 

“I was right when I called you a liar earlier.” 

Cullen did not know why in the Void it was so _warm_ in his office, but there was a sticky heat around him that prickled his skin and made him give a shaky exhale. He felt his hips grind against her, just barely, and he bit his tongue hard because that would make it rather obvious how _tempted_ he felt right now.

Her other hand traveled up his back, hooked under his arm as her fingers gripped his shoulder. He felt her breath ghost across his skin before her mouth opened against his neck, lips drawing a line upwards that made him shiver.

The choked noise he made was— _embarrassing_. The cool swipe of her tongue against his skin made him lean into her, the awry strands of her hair ticking his nose. He wanted to move his hand to her back and hoist her legs around him, but—but his rough groan and the way he pushed harder against her meant she was _winning_. 

Cullen staggered back with a tremendous amount of effort, grasp back on her arms. 

“Stop,” he choked out. “You’ve had _far_ too much to drink.” 

Katria’s lips were red and wet and she grinned. “You’d want to fuck me now if I wasn’t drunk?” 

“No,” Cullen replied quickly. “I just—I _know_ what you’re doing. I am in control.” 

“Keep thinking that,” she replied. 

“It is late and you need to leave,” he ordered. He released her and stepped back. 

Katria followed him, stumbling, and Cullen threw an annoyed glare in her direction. If he allowed her to wander around Skyhold this late at night, in such a degree of darkness, she’d probably trip and fall off the battlements or something equally as bad. 

He clenched his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth would crack. “Come on,” he said. “I will help you.” 

She gave a sharp bark as a laugh. “Maker’s balls, can’t you be at least _slightly_ less chivalric? It’s so…annoying.” 

Cullen grabbed her arm and began dragging her out of his office. “Well, we can’t all be flippant and impolite like you, Trevelyan.” 

The air was cold outside, and Cullen was thankful for it, considering how claustrophobic his office felt with her in it. She squirmed in his hold at first, but once it was clear she could not exactly walk on her own, she used his forearm for support. 

They made it to the stairs leading to the courtyard when Katria stopped abruptly. He could not discern her expression in the light from the torches, but the small groan she made did not sound good. 

She twisted and threw her torso onto the battlements, then retched down the high castle walls. 

Cullen sighed. “Great,” he muttered, though he was glad their interaction from earlier didn’t get any further. He walked over to her and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. 

Katria laid across the stone, hair obscuring the entirely of her face even as she let her head dangle off the edge of the battlements. She slumped down further with a defeated sound. 

“You’re a mess, Trevelyan,” Cullen remarked. 

She had no witty comeback; she didn’t even make some indignant sound. “I know,” she whispered softly instead. 

“You can hardly take care of yourself,” he said, shaking his head. “How you took care of anyone _else_ is beyond me.” 

Katria was silent for a few moments, and he was afraid she might vomit again. She dropped sharply onto her knees and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. 

“I didn’t,” she said. “I _didn’t_ take care of anyone else.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “What are-,” 

He stopped when she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. He couldn’t be sure what she was doing, so he bent down slightly, then froze when he heard a muffled, but unmistakable sob leave her lips. 

Katria cried harder into her hands in a crescendo that ended in a loud shudder. Cullen felt himself turning bright red, opening his mouth, but no words formed in his mind because what in the _Void_ was even going on. He did not consider himself a person who understood women well, but this was an especially perplexing development. This is precisely why he did not loiter around the tavern or drunk members of the Inquisition. They were far too volatile. 

“Um, are you…alright?” Cullen asked awkwardly.

“I didn’t!” she cried again. “I promised, and I-I didn’t take care of her. Everyone I _ever_ loved is…” 

“Her? Are…do you mean Clara?” he began. “I thought she was…” Well, he hadn’t actually _had_ any thoughts about how Clara was because he and Katria had not exactly had many civil conversations, but he had assumed the girl was safe somewhere. 

“She…” Katria’s hands folded in, palms against one another and rested against her long nose. Her face was glistening and puffy. “She _begged_ me, said that because she was twenty now, she should…” 

Katria took a deep breath, but that did not help. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut and another sob and a few tears escaped. “She wanted to fight for her rights as a mage, a-against—people like _you_. She _always_ remembered you, and what you did. Kirkwall.” 

Her fist slammed hard into the ground, and Katria finally met his gaze. “I let her go to the Conclave, and she _died_. I failed.” 

Cullen tentatively lowered onto one knee, brow wrinkled. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

She make a disgusted noise. “Don’t,” she spat. “Your apology means nothing.” 

“Is that why you’re so angry at me?” he asked. “Because you think I’m responsible for what happened to her? I couldn’t have-,” 

“Maker, just _shut up_!” Katria cried. “I didn’t want to talk about this with _you_!” She roughly wiped at her face. “I want to go back to my room,” she said in a smaller voice.

Cullen leaned back as she tried to scramble up. He reached for her arm again, but she jerked away from him. He followed her anyway, staying close as they headed to the row of rooms above the gardens where she slept. 

He knew it must have been difficult, losing someone special like that at the Conclave. It had happened to many people. Even Cassandra. So many lives ripped away—lives of people who’d grown up in a corrupt world and wanted to make it better. For Katria—well, she clearly would have given her life for Clara. Gone to the Conclave in her place. Or perhaps Katria wished that Clara had become the Herald and not Ellana. The two were fairly close in age, after all; Ellana wasn’t more than twenty-two. Maybe that’s why Katria and the Inquisitor got along so well. 

They reached her room, and Katria fumbled with the door until he opened it for her. He reached up and rubbed his neck. 

“Listen-,” 

“N-No,” she cut in, collapsed against the door frame. “No. I shouldn’t have…I wish I’d _never_ …” She couldn’t meet his gaze and instead walked through the door. “Just leave me alone.”

She slammed the door in his face, and he refused to admit he was a little concerned for her well-being. He waited only a few moments before walking away with a shake of his head. Maker, all he’d wanted to do was _avoid_ Katria, yet the more they interacted the more complicated things became.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadness in this chapter, but it will get better moving forward. I wanted the two of them to get to at least *some* sort of equilibrium before other things began. I feel like rivalmances or flings have like !immediate sex! and here I am meandering in the 30,000 word range and there's no smut to be seen. Maybe that's disappointing? I don't know. I view most of my writing as one big experiment and experiments can always be tweaked!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. (oh yeah)

Katria awoke face down on a stone floor, which, considering her past, was not _that_ unusual. She didn’t move at first; the minute she'd regained consciousness, a sticky, sweltering pain had washed over her, the core of it lodged in her temple. 

She tried to use her arms to push herself up, but ended up resigning and flopping back to the floor with a muffled grunt. The brief moment she lifted her head told her that she was in her room, but hadn’t quite made it to her bed. 

Katria rolled over, palm to her forehead, smacking her lips at the terrible taste lingering in her mouth. She must have vomited, which was very unpleasant. And also odd. She drank a lot, sure, but it’s not like she was in her early 20’s anymore. Or even her mid 20’s. She was supposed to be more adult than this, yet all the uncomfortable and emotional things converging on her made that difficult.

The Templar who had attacked her the previous day, Hodson, was not receptive to Katria’s apology. She threw vitriolic words Katria’s way, and it hurt. The guilty thoughts she had cut deep and the pain lingered. 

Her past was a catastrophic web that was supposed to stay buried _far_ in the back of her mind. Hodson’s anger about her dead brother forced Katria to confront how hateful she had been in her past. The same kind of hate Cullen had, no matter how hard she tried to distinguish between them. It made her feel incapable, unworthy—Clara’s death only reinforced that. Katria was better after meeting Clara: more patient, less angry, stronger, but not strong enough to protect her. Everything she loved was taken away, so what was the point of doing good? 

She went to the tavern to cope with all of that. Then Cullen had shown up—as he walked, he got respectful nods and smiles and she _hated_ it. Worse, he approached her to apologize. Maybe because of the alcohol, though probably not, she’d snapped. She was consumed with fury for a reason she could not pinpoint. Was she still resentful about Kirkwall? Or annoyed that he was apologizing and being the better man? Cullen wasn’t supposed to be moral or chivalric, and yet he wouldn’t stop being respectful no matter how hard she pushed him. 

Katria scrubbed her brow because she didn’t remember much after that. Anything after that, actually. She pushed herself onto her elbows, trying to peer onto her bed to ensure she had no company. Her room was empty, a bit more unkempt than she remembered, but it gave her no indication of what had happened last night. She could ask around, perhaps, but that would be nothing short of mortifying. 

Katria laid splayed across the floor for a little longer, part of her wondering when death would come because she was that hung-over. She eventually worked up the courage to stand, then stagger down to take a bath. She considered using more brandy to get the bad taste out of her mouth, but settled on mint tea and some potion from the healer that would help the ache invading every part of her body. Other than vomiting one more time before she took a very long and warm bath, her mood began to improve by the afternoon. Dorian teased her incessantly about how tired she looked when she left the clinic, Sera tried to steal her clothes while she bathed, but otherwise she did not interact with anyone. 

In her room, wrapped in a robe and laying on her bed, she was content to sleep the day away. To close her eyes to distract herself from the pain she felt. Except nagging thoughts kept swirling in her head, keeping her alert. She eventually came to the conclusion that Cullen _maybe_ deserved an apology. Her words in the tavern were not wrong, but her anger and her actions were regrettable. 

Of course, there was a huge swath of time from last night she did not remember. There were flashes—she saw the stone battlements, the darkness past them, the shadowy courtyard, but nothing concrete. It’s entirely possibly her slightly drunker self had gone to find Cullen. And yelled at him. 

There was a knock at her door at some point—the potion she drank must have been helping because the noise did not make her wince. She rose from the bed and tightened the knot of her robe before answering it. 

Cullen was standing before her, looking awkward, and she recoiled in surprise at the sight of him. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked incredulously. 

His brow rose slightly. “I came to ensure you were…alright,” he explained. “You were not in good shape last night.” 

“You saw me after…?” Katria sighed—she’d gone to him, as she suspected. And probably done something stupid, and now he wanted to _talk_ about it. 

She made an impatient noise and peered out the door, looking for any prying eyes before she ushered him inside. Cullen hesitated, then stepped through the threshold as she closed the door. 

“I don’t…remember much,” she admitted. “I guess you could fill me in?” 

He nodded. “Only to the point where you came to my office and screamed at me.” 

“Ah,” Katria said, massaging her temple. “I…obviously had no intention to do that.”

“The first time or the second time?” he asked. 

Katria reached up to her hair. “Are you here to be mad at me or to see if I’m alright?” 

“I don’t want to be here at all,” he said quickly. “But-,” He grunted. “I’m not a terrible person, and you made some _very_ poor decisions last night. I didn’t see you this morning, so I wanted to ensure you weren’t…dead or something.” 

Katria snorted and turned away, waving one arm. “Well, I’m very much alive, so you can leave.” 

“That’s all?” he said to her back, his voice tinged with irritation. Though that’s how he always sounded with her. “You have nothing to say about the way you acted?” 

“I don’t remember how I acted!” she said exasperatedly, twisting to him again. 

“You _attacked_ me, you yelled at me for something I wasn’t responsible for, and you-,” He stopped, fumbling, his face redder than before. “Never mind.” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest with a small huff. “I am dealing with a lot of things right now,” she said. “So…it _is_ a possibility that my anger was misdirected and that I should not have…treated you so poorly.” 

“You told me everything,” Cullen said, and her neck snapped up. Had her grief overflowed into their conversation? Had she admitted what was really causing her so much pain? Her eyes searched his face; his gaze seemed surprisingly sympathetic. 

“I-I told you…” 

“You told me what happened to Clara.” 

Katria turned away from him, one hand on her hip. “Maker’s balls,” she muttered. No wonder her eyes had looked so puffy when she first woke up. She’d been crying. That’s what she felt like doing now. 

“What else?” she demanded, determined to change the subject because this topic made her want to splinter apart. It was all she could do to distract herself. “We couldn’t have talked for _that_ long.”

He rubbed his neck. “There was nothing else. We spoke briefly, then left my office. You wretched over the battlements while I escorted you to your room.”

She gave a short laugh. “Charming.” 

Cullen shrugged. “It happens.” 

Katria shook her head. “I can't believe you escorted me back to my room. Polite arse.”

“Most people would say thank you,” he grumbled. 

“How do I know you didn’t drag me back to my bed for more nefarious purposes?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows. Mostly because her flirtation was one way to have the upper-hand with Cullen. It unsettled the precious Templar and that was always satisfying.

“That will never happen,” Cullen replied sternly. 

Katria chuckled. “So _serious_. Tell me, Commander, do you do anything for fun?” 

“I don’t think anything we might do together could be construed as fun,” he pointed out. 

She grinned. “Oh, I could think of some things you might enjoy.”

As his hand slid down across his neck and to his side, she noticed a blotchy mark on the pale skin just below his ear. Someone had kissed him hard enough to leave something behind. 

She stifled her giggle. “I stand corrected. You saw a woman last night?” 

His brow arched sharply in. “What?” 

Katria touched her own neck where his mark was. “It could have been a man, too, certainly. Whatever your preference.” 

He was blushing profusely. “I didn’t—,” He swept past her to the small mirror on her wall, inspecting his neck. When he spotted the mark, he clapped his hand over it and cursed. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Commander,” she remarked, grinning stupidly. “Who was the unlucky lady?” 

“ _You_ ,” he sputtered, spinning around. 

Katria clenched her hand around the tie of her robe. “Wha—me?” 

“Nothing happened,” he assured her quickly, his eyes breaking from hers. “You just sort of…kissed my neck and I pushed you away and that was all.” 

“I…” Katria trailed off, shifting on her feet that were cold against the stone floor. It was an odd mix with the warmth that was rapidly spreading across the rest of her body. Cullen was attractive; perhaps it would make sense that when her inhibitions were down she would be brave enough to move into the personal space of the stalwart Commander. 

But she was sober now and…he was definitely still attractive. She felt some intense and stupid swirl of emotions—strong emotions. The potency of her anger remained a constant force that lit her blood on fire. Part of her wanted to _break_ him. To watch the precious Commander Cullen unravel in her hands and lose all of his control. 

But at the same time Commander Cullen had proven not to be like the Knight-Captain she’d met in Kirkwall. Even that man cared, though she hated him, and now this man was calmer, more melancholy, less frightened. Still exceptionally frustrating most times. 

Something occurred to Katria, and she bit her lip. “You let me kiss you long enough to leave a mark.” 

Cullen’s eyes widened. “I—no,” he stammered. “It wasn’t—I was….”

“You _liked_ it,” she said. “You were having _fun_.”

“I was not,” he replied indignantly.

Katria let a smile draw her lip up. “There’s nothing wrong with finding a woman attractive.” 

“Not _you_ ,” he protested. “You are obnoxious and glib and the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Then why are you here now?” she asked. “You say you think I’m annoying, yet you keep showing up.”

She stepped closer to him, fingers toying with the long ends of her robe as her hands hung at her side. He fidgeted, and it was so satisfying to watch him squirm under her finger. 

“I bet you’d love to pin me down and teach me a lesson. Take away some of my smugness that grates your nerves so badly. It’s what all Templars want.” 

“No,” he said immediately. “That’s not—you know, _you_ are the one who showed up in my office in the middle of the night.” 

Katria was in front of him now, thinking about it. Mind wandering to how it would feel to fuck him. Or fist her hands hard in his carefully-manicured hair. Templars normally had very impressive stamina. 

Her stomach tightened a little at that thought—was Cullen just another Templar she was trying to sink her claws into? Was she trying to hurt him? 

Katria tried to tell herself no. He was attractive and she wanted him and maybe the small part of her that was still angry at him did want to drag the pristine Chantry boy, who was anything but, down into morally-suspect waters with her.

“You don't have to pretend you weren't happy to see me last night,” she said. 

His eyes darted down to her waist, then back up. He pointed at her. “I know what you're doing,” he began angrily. “You are _so_ —so fake! You flirt and are so damn sarcastic because you want to annoy me, and I will _not_ tolerate it any longer, Trevelyan.” 

She raised one eyebrow. “So what are you going to do about it?” 

“I’m…” He clenched his fist. “I’m going to _leave_.” 

Katria stepped aside, raising one arm to the door. “Goodbye then, Commander.” 

Cullen scowled instead of moving. “I want you to quit your…dithering.” 

Katria’s tongue darted out across her lower lip—he watched her do it.

“I’ll do anything you want.” 

She felt a little bad teasing him so much, but smiled anyway. Cullen made a frustrated noise. “Will you?” he spat.

“Oh, I-,” 

Cullen swept forward and grabbed her forearms. The next thing she felt was her body being pinned against the wall, air pushed out of her lungs. Her smug expression quickly faded.

He leaned in close, breath warm on her skin. She could feel the shadow of his lips against hers as he whispered to her. His voice was low, seductive. It made her heart race. 

"You'll do _anything_ I ask?" he murmured. 

Katria relaxed in his grasp and nodded too eagerly. "Yes," she said breathlessly. 

He leaned closer. “I want you…” His hard grip slid down her arms, to the bend of her elbows, then across the tie of her robe on her waist. He had such large hands. And strong arms. She imagined what it would feel like for him to touch her with his calloused fingers, hoist her against him while she clung to his broad shoulders. She bit her lip, embarrassed at how red her face probably was. She thought for one joyous moment he’d untie her robe, but his fingers did not move. Their eyes met, and fuck, she _wanted_ him. “…to leave me alone.”

Katria exhaled sharply, brow puckering with disappointment at the end of his sentence. A stupid smile tugged at his lip; the side with the scar, and _Maker_ why was he doing this? 

She tried to find some coherent words to string together, but came up short. “I… _you_ …” 

“Have you no witty comeback for me?” he asked, feigning shock. He shifted so his leg slid up between hers. “Have I rendered the most frustrating woman in Thedas _speechless_?” 

“I-,” She swallowed. He was so right. “I have a _hundred_ things to say,” she sputtered. “A-And ninety-five of them have to do with your hideous coat.” 

Cullen smirked. “I was not aware you could count that high.”

That snapped her quickly out of her stupor about how attracted she was to him. Her jaw dropped, and her hands jumped up to his breastplate to shove him. 

“Oh, you arse!” 

Katria used enough force to push them from the wall. She did not let go of him because she wanted to—hit him, maybe, or surrender that stupid coat from his shoulders. Her fingers clung to the fur, yanking it, and Cullen staggered backwards, his boots making heavy _thuds_ against the floor as they scuffled.

Cullen swung her, and he probably didn’t mean to, but her feet got tangled together and she fell back against the bed. A hard, heavy weight pressed down on her, making her gasp. Cullen had fallen after her, which she probably should have expected when wrestling took place in a bedroom as small as hers. 

He was on top of her, their legs dangling off the edge of the bed. His face was so close to hers the tips of their noses touched. 

Part of her robe had fallen away on her legs, her skin bare against the fabric of his breeches. Why did he not wear armor _there_? She could feel his cock between them, hard, and _she'd_ done that because he wanted her. 

Cullen’s smugness had rapidly evaporated and his brow rose in a look of guilt. 

“I’m sor-,” 

She fisted his hair in her hand and brought their lips together in a hard kiss. Because she really wanted to. Because she was a little mad and he was very attractive. Her lips sealed clumsily over his, their teeth clinking together, and he froze. 

Cullen was still for only a moment before a small moan vibrated up his throat, and he kissed her back, prying her lips apart to slide his tongue into her mouth. His hand slid roughly into her hair and gripped it. 

Cullen’s suddenness surprised her, though maybe in the back of her mind she understood him. He was a bastion of self-control, and his defenses rarely crumpled, so when it happened, the result was explosive. Or perhaps he was nervous, and only worked up his courage to act in waves. 

Regardless of his motivation, Katria knew it was best not to hesitate—she didn’t want to. She was already ridiculously frantic and wanting and she raked her fingernails over the only exposed parts of him. His wavy hair, the stubble on his jaw, the warm skin on his neck that was flushed red before she’d even touched it. 

His gloves felt cumbersome, so she tugged on the soft leather, yanking when they didn’t give at first and dropping them one by one to the floor. Next, because he hadn’t done it, she fumbled with the knot on her robe until it unfurled and the sides fell back like a curtain. The cold of his breastplate was biting, and a little sharp, but he had propped himself up on one elbow to give her space. 

They had stopped kissing—she preferred that, otherwise it might encourage actual _intimacy_. He pulled her hair harder, forcing her back to arch into his armor, while his mouth drew a line down her throat. His other hand skimmed her collarbone then down between her breasts, cupping one in his hand and running his thumb roughly across its peak, forcing her to shudder. 

Her breaths soon came out in short pants. The rush of her pulse in her ears was thundering—adrenaline, probably, because this was _actually_ happening, except she wasn’t really thinking that way. Her mind was in some abstract, desperate place where she couldn’t feel enough, he couldn’t touch her enough, she needed _more_.

Katria wrapped a leg around him, trying to rub her core against his hardened length. She rutted unsuccessfully against him, which made her groan in frustration. She wedged her hand down between them and fumbled with his belt. His sword clattered to the floor a moment later, just as his mouth slid down to her breast. 

“ _Oh_.” She fell back down against the bed, wrapping another leg around him and rolling her hips, hot and slick against him. She desperately wanted him—this _stupidly_ handsome Templar who made her heart beat faster from some inexplicable combination of anger and attraction.

“Maker,” she gasped. “I want to fuck you. Now.”

Cullen lifted his head and swallowed. He pushed back further, racing to unlace the strings of his breeches until his cock sprang free. She leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around him, letting out a small breath as pleasure and anticipation shivered through her, and he thrust up into her hand while putting his hand in her hair. 

Her robe had fallen from her shoulders, and it gathered at her elbows. She looked up at him and met his half-lidded gaze. 

“What are you waiting for?” she asked in a low voice. “The Breach to open up again?” 

“Don’t jinx it,” he growled into her hair, and he pushed her back down on the bed by her shoulder, his other palm flat beside her head. He spread her legs further apart and centered himself before he thrust hard into her. She moaned when he did, her legs clamping back around his waist, her hips moving under him to find better purchase. She wanted to grab him by his hair and meet his gaze and whisper _I won_ to his unfairly handsome face. But she couldn’t really tell if she’d won or not because she wanted this, too. She’d fallen into her own trap and maybe at some point her flirtation had stopping being to annoy him and instead to get what she wanted. 

Cullen did not look at her and kept his forehead pressed against the sheets by her shoulder, resting on one elbow so his weight did not completely crush her. The way he panted into her ear made a soft groan leave her lips—she _had_ him, falling apart in her hands. One little tug and the dense knot that was Cullen’s reticence unraveled. 

The sex was sloppy and fast and there was _nothing_ romantic about the way he humped her into the mattress. It was satisfying, however, because the pleasure he built with each snap of his hips made her back arch off the bed, and she cried out as she came hard around him.

Cullen exhaled sharply when she did, driving himself into her with enough force that the brittle bedframe creaked, loud claps against the wall that she could hear even as he growled _Maker’s breath_ into her ear. As he finished, hips stuttering clumsily, he sunk his teeth into her shoulder to silence the broken groan that left him. Katria made a surprised sound, nails digging sharp into his coat. 

“Maker, _yes_ ,” Cullen murmured, though she wasn’t sure he was talking to her. “That felt…” 

She was dazed after that, laying limp under him, a puddle, as his chest heaved inside his breastplate. It was unfair that she enjoyed fucking him so much. 

Katria eventually shifted, hoping it would entice him to stop putting so much of his weight on her. After a few more labored breaths, Cullen pushed himself up—she could not read his expression, or the crease in his brow. He climbed off her, not meeting her gaze and instead looking down to tuck himself back into his breeches. Parts of his armor were glistening from her sweat.

She propped herself up on her elbows, tilting her head to observe him. She did not cover herself up, and when he lifted his head, his eyes trailed over her pale skin turned red from their activities. 

Cullen swallowed; she saw guilt crash down on him—it always happened. Being lost in lust, reveling in the roughness, the forbidden, only to have the curtain lift, revealing the magnitude of events that was too much to take standing in one place. 

Katria never really felt that way. Sex was sex and people had it or they didn’t. It was a means to an end—her pleasure washed away her stress and made her forget. Quite a jaded way to think about something so intimate, but she’d never been in love, and the sort of thing that happened between her and Cullen couldn’t possibly lead to that anyway. 

Katria cocked an eyebrow. “Well, that was fun.” 

Cullen made a choked noise, face bright red. “Maker, you are _incorrigible_.” 

She sat up and haphazardly covered herself. “Says the man who just-,” 

“Don’t,” he blurted out, taking another step back. He gave some panicked sigh before walking to her door. He only paused to fix his hair, then was gone. 

Katria gave a small snort as he slammed the door. As she stood and shuffled over to her chest of clothes, she noticed Cullen’s gloves on the floor, forgotten. She picked them up, the leather smooth between her fingers. 

She wished he would have left behind his coat. Then she could have burned it and _two_ good things would have happened that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So completes the first in a series of many more NSFW chapters. Plus talking about feelings. And arguing. Definitely a long way to go before things aren't all messy and complicated but that can be fun.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Had a surprise visit from some friends over the weekend, and their idea of fun was not sitting on my couch watching me edit my latest chapter, so such work had to be pushed back ;)

Cullen felt like an idiot for it, but he _fled_ after leaving Katria’s room. Walked quickly and in a bit of a panic to his office to sit with his palms pressed against his eyes. He forced his mind to thoughts about work and practical things and not what had just transpired a few moments ago. He did not want to dwell on the softness of Katria’s skin. How warm she was. How nice her hair smelled as it laid across the crook of her neck. 

What he'd done was _wrong_. He should not have caved, dissolved into his desires like some sort of adolescent boy. He shouldn’t have tried to play her game in the first place; leaving would have been more prudent, but instead he stuck around to antagonize her like she did to him and it backfired. 

_It backfired gloriously_ , a small voice in his head said to him, and he tried to snuff the thought out. 

Except that it _had_ been…nice. More than nice. As a part of the Inquisition, Cullen did not get to enjoy things. He did not partake in luxurious baths or unwind in the tavern or take leisurely walks. He worked, and when he didn’t work, he tried to sleep, and when he tried to sleep, he’d writhe in pain in his bed from the lyrium or the nightmares. He liked his life—he was finally a part of a wholly _good_ cause after all, but there was nothing in it like he’d experienced with Katria. A pleasure that washed away his stress for a few precious moments and made him feel lighter and less tense.

But what was the cost of all that? Katria was victorious. She was breaking him down with that smug smile, and while it had seemed like she wanted him as much as he wanted her, what if it was still a part of her game? Out of all the people in Skyhold whom he could be with, was she really a good option? 

Cullen decided she was not a wise choice, no matter how attracted he was to her. When she’d been sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at him, her hand around his cock, robe gathered at her elbows and exposing her breasts—well, it’d nearly broken him then, but he promised himself such things would not happen again. 

Sleep did not come easily that night, though it never did. By the next morning, Cullen made a plan to cross the courtyard well before Katria’s training with her scouts began. Anything to avoid her because part of him was afraid she’d stride over with her shit-eating smile and announce to everyone what had happened. That would be unacceptable, so while pink and gold tones still bathed the courtyard in the early morning, he descended the battlements. 

The Maker saw fit not to be kind to him, though, because in the sparring ring, he heard the clack of wood against wood, which made him hope there were some practicing warriors. There were not. 

Ellana was there, her red hair darkened from the sweat across her temple. She was drenched and panting, holding her staff in one hand. Katria was across from her. She had a stick rested across the back of her neck. It was not a mage staff, but had a staff blade fashioned on the end of it. 

“That was good,” Katria said. 

“Decent,” Ellana muttered in reply. 

She pulled the staff from her neck and rested it on the ground. “We’ll practice. You just need more confidence.” 

“Mages are not built for close-quarters…brawling,” she said. “Or at least _I’m_ not.” 

“Harritt didn’t put a blade on the end of your staff just for looks,” Katria replied. “This will help you if someone we are fighting gets too close, and Cassandra or myself can’t back you up.” 

Ellana drew an absent pattern in the dirt with her foot. “You know a lot about wielding a staff,” she said. “Have you trained mages before?” 

Katria pivoted slightly, hand on her hip. “Ah, well. I mean…” She shook her head. “No.” 

A liar, as always. She’d clearly trained Clara. Katria was a woman who could not sit still, and if she couldn’t teach her charge how to handle her magic, she was going to teach _something_. 

Ellana cocked her head, but did not press her further. Instead, she turned, and finally noticing Cullen, gave him a cheery smile. 

“Oh, good morning, Commander,” Ellana said. 

He nodded to her, then purposely ignored Katria. He didn’t even want to look at her, lest he notice something attractive about her. Or annoying. 

“Hello Inquisitor.” 

“You’re certainly reporting to the War Room earlier than usual,” she remarked. 

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I’ve been looking over those letters you gathered from the Emerald Graves and perhaps when you have a moment-,” 

Ellana tossed her head back and laughed. He’d never understand how she found joy so easily. 

“Cullen, you don’t always have to talk about work,” she said. “You can talk about normal things. Hobbies.” She threw her hand backwards. “Come into the sparring ring, blow off some steam.” 

His eyes finally flitted over to Katria—he just _knew_ she was going to make some snide, ridiculous comment that would embarrass him and he’d want to throttle her more than ever. 

Except that she only met his gaze, one small part of her thin lip ticking up before she turned away, apparently uninterested. 

“I will try to relax,” Cullen said, basically as a reflex because people told him to take it easy a lot. “But if you do get some time before-,” 

Ellana gave him a disapproving look, so he stopped himself. She brought her staff back to her chest. “Relax,” she repeated emphatically. “And I’ll see you later. I’ve got a few more hours of-,” Her hazel eyes looked ruefully back at Katria. “A few more hours of getting my arse kicked.” 

Katria grinned. “Hey, I could have invited Cassandra and then we’d be having so much less fun.” 

Ellana laughed again. Because she and Katria were friends. Because this woman was a part of the Inquisition and she wasn’t going anywhere. And it occurred to him they should probably talk about what that meant because Katria could not fray his nerves further. She just _couldn’t_. 

Yet he still did not work up the courage to say anything. Immersing himself in his work was much easier. Denying that anything was happening, denying his headaches and his stress, denying the entirety of his problem was the simple solution. The efficient one. So that’s what he did: meeting in the War Room where his fellow advisors talked far too little about Samson and too much about their impending trip to the Winter Palace, then to the barracks and back to his office to tackle a set of reports that replenished in size every time he blinked. 

Katria had more courage than he did because after he skipped dinner to continue to work, one of his doors creaked open. She appeared in the torchlight; he tried not to think about her long legs or that even though her tunic was far too billowy for him to see anything, her breasts were underneath and they had proven to be soft and very nice and well-formed. 

He clenched his fist and kept his eyes on the parchment in front of him. 

“I am very busy,” he announced. “Go away.”

She didn’t listen to him, obviously. Her footsteps echoed up the high ceiling as she strode into the room. Something flopped onto his desk, rattling an open inkwell. 

“You left your gloves.” 

Cullen knew that. He was hoping she would just forget about them since he had an extra pair anyway. 

“Thank you,” he said in a clipped tone. 

She continued to stand there while he scratched away on a piece of parchment. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hip settle to one side as she rested her hand on it. 

“You must have something to say.” 

Cullen clenched his hand around his quill. “Forgive me, Trevelyan, but as Commander of the Inquisition, I have too many responsibilities to have some silly conversation with you.” 

“Silly conversation?” she began incredulously. “I don’t think it’s silly to exchange some words considering we fucked-,” 

“I _cannot_ do this with you,” Cullen cut in, head rising to meet her gaze. 

Katria lifted her hand to her temple. “I don’t understand why it upsets you that I’m acknowledging reality.” 

He stood, fingers against his desk. “The _reality_ of this situation is that you manipulated me and you lied like you do with _everyone_ you've ever met.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, you’re unbelievable. I did not manipulate you! I think you wanted it and that you liked it and _that's_ what is making you so angry.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cullen snapped. 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest. “You are acting like a child.” 

“You must be rubbing off on me then,” he grumbled. 

“That was yesterday, actually.”

Her wit cracked him like a whip, and he made a frustrated sound. “Do you take _anything_ seriously?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Cullen collapsed back in his chair. “Why are you here then?” he demanded sharply. 

“I-,” Katria stopped and shifted, finally looking uncomfortable. “Listen, I am not here because I want to talk about _feelings_. I don’t want to acknowledge anything beyond…” She put her hands on her waist and bowed her head. “If you’re not willing to admit it, I will.” 

“Admit what?” he asked wearily. 

Katria pointed at him. “Let me make one thing _perfectly_ clear: I do not like you. We are clearly incompatible because you’re a morally-suspect ex-Templar who’s too grumpy and serious and impatient and I’m-,” 

“A manipulative and glib, ethically-corrupt-,” 

“Yes, fine,” she said impatiently. “ _Incompatible_. But, I liked the sex. With you. And, honestly, I think you need it because you’re so fucking uptight you’re about to burst.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “I—I’m sorry, what are you saying? You want-,” 

Katria rubbed the back of her head, tousling her hair that was already in disarray. “You don’t have to balk like that. This is—I mean, people do this. And I think it could work with us.” She dropped her hand to her side. “It wouldn’t be complicated. There is _zero_ chance that if we sleep together anything else will emerge from it, and you couldn’t do this with someone who is your subordinate because that would be very inappropriate, but I’m not, so…maybe it makes sense.”

Cullen swallowed and drummed his fingers against his desk. Perhaps she was right that he had enjoyed what happened, but—Maker, no matter how good it felt, he shouldn’t have anything else in his life except his work. He’d sworn himself to this cause, and there shouldn’t be distractions. 

Katria bristled in the silence and exhaled. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. After Kirkwall, I swore not to be so malicious.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But never mind that. You can think I’m a terrible person. I don’t care. I only meant to—to place an offer on the table.” 

Cullen shifted in his seat. He had to look down at his desk because he would be far too tempted to say yes if he kept his eyes on her. “Trevelyan, I’ve got a tremendous amount of work to do.” 

She was silent for a few moments, lips probably scrunched up, before she stepped back and shrugged. “Right,” she said. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m sure you’d be far too handsome for me to turn down.” 

He did not lift his gaze, even as the metal on the door rattled and then clicked shut as she left. He clenched his fist after that, taking his gloves in his hands, then throwing them back to where she’d left them. Of course his mechanical response was to turn her down—it confused him, her boldness, her nonchalance about it all. She was so unlike him, or most other women he’d met. 

Cullen looked up at the closed door; he didn’t know why he was still thinking about it. She was gone, and it did not matter now. 

===

Cullen quite quickly encountered a problem with his refusal to further interact with Katria. He thought of her too frequently—or at least _parts_ of her. Her lithe form bending and twisting in combat, the long, dexterous fingers that had removed his gloves so easily. He’d pass her in the sparring ring, and she’d be so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice him, but _he_ noticed the way she licked her lips, and one time he was close enough to see a bead of sweat trickle down her clavicle, underneath her tunic, to a part of her body he thought about in droves. 

He dwelled on these things too much, though they were in some ways a welcome reprieve when he was in bed, trying to sleep—thinking about her made the nightmares and the stress from his work seem more distant. Not that distant, though. 

Cullen convinced himself that his…purely _physical_ and _minor_ infatuation would fade, especially since Ellana had asked Katria to accompany her to the Exalted Plains. She could not antagonize or entice him if she was all the way in Orlais. Perhaps he would think of her less, and he could focus his efforts on what really mattered. 

And what really mattered as of late was any information he could find about Samson’s operations. The man needed to be stopped, at all costs. 

Perhaps for the tenth time, Cullen was pouring over the letters Ellana had collected in the Emerald Graves when he was interrupted. 

“Maker, do you ever leave this drafty place?” 

He lifted his head immediately upon recognizing Katria’s voice. “What are you-,” He looked away. “I’m still very busy, Trevelyan.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Katria said as she approached his desk. “You’re all work and no fun and it makes you a grumpy, clopping mess.” 

Cullen sighed and leaned back. “What are you doing here?” 

She haphazardly tossed some reports in his direction. “From Leliana.” 

“Thank you,” he said, as he moved to gather them into a manageable pile. 

“I read them,” Katria remarked, resting one hip against his desk. “They’re about Samson.” 

“He’s Corypheus’ general,” Cullen replied. “We are trying to gather as much information as possible.” He paused and looked up. “You were acquainted with him in Kirkwall, weren’t you?” 

Katria nodded. “I was. He was a good man.” 

“A decent one,” Cullen said. “Though he is not any longer. He's a monster.” 

She scrutinized him, lips tight. “Are you angrier at Corypheus or Samson?”

“Samson should know better.” 

Katria pushed herself from the desk, gesturing sharply with one hand. “Is that what you think this is? Samson made some questionable ethical choice and that’s all?” 

“That’s _exactly_ what he did,” Cullen replied. “He poisoned the Templars and turned them into everything they would have hated.” 

“The Templar Order was already poisoned,” she shot back. “Samson—the Samson _I_ knew would have never done this. He….” She combed her hand through her hair. “I just don’t understand.” 

Cullen made an impatient noise. “Corypheus probably flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium.”

“Samson was wrongfully expelled from the Order after being forced to shoulder an addiction under the guise that he would be protecting the innocent,” Katria said. “I would think _you_ of all people would have sympathy for the kind of pain he was experiencing.” 

“The Order expelled him, but he had choices,” Cullen protested. “He could have found another path.”

“Easy to say from where you’re standing,” Katria snapped, arms crossed. 

He stood. “Excuse me?” 

“I knew you would have this attitude about Samson,” she said angrily. “He was scrounging by on the streets because of _you_ , and you judge him from your pedestal at the Inquisition, surrounded by friends and support, and as many resources as you could want.” 

Cullen circled the desk to her, raising his finger. “Do you not remember the Templars swarming Haven? How they were corrupted beyond recognition? Samson is responsible for that.” 

“Yes, I understand that circumstances caused by _you_ -,”

“Maker’s breath, I am so tired of you blaming me for _everything_!” he exclaimed. “Clara, Samson—you want it all to be my fault and it’s _not_! I didn’t force Samson to join Corypheus!” 

“You stood and watched as two innocent people had their lives ruined!” she snapped. “Maddox became nothing more than a laborer, and Samson was-,” 

“Samson was given a _choice_ , and the damage he has done is incalculable,” he growled. “Thousands of lives destroyed, and you want to feel sympathy for him.” 

“Maker, this is so typical,” she said, pushing once on his breastplate. “You’ve been the same narrow-minded Templar for a decade.” 

Cullen’s hand shot out, circling her wrist and pulling her towards him. He spat out each of his words. “I am _not_ a Templar any longer.”

“You certainly still act like one,” she said. 

He tightened his grip. “You know all about how Templars act, don’t you?” 

Her brow wrinkled, and she yanked herself from his grasp. “You can accuse me of lashing out all you want, but it’s not like you’re any better,” she said. “You just want to overcompensate.” 

“For what?” 

Katria put her hands on her waist. “I see you watching me. When I’m in the sparring ring. In the courtyard. I think you’re mean and impatient because you still want to fuck me.” 

“Don’t be—that is absurd,” he sputtered, then he turned his head away, which he realized was probably not a good tactic to prove he was telling the truth. 

She waved her hand dismissively. “Right. _Absurd_.” She stepped back and pushed her hair behind her ear so he could see the long, slender line of her neck. “Listen, I’m over thirty, and much too old to be playing games with you. You can insist whatever you’d like.”

“I-,” He shifted and cleared his throat. “It really doesn’t matter to you?” 

Katria narrowed her eyes. “No, Cullen. It doesn’t. I’m not _manipulating_ you. I’m not forming some sort of emotional attachment. I just…” She shrugged. “I enjoy very little in my life right now, and I liked being with you.” 

Cullen stared at his boots, torn open because that’s _exactly_ how he felt, and they weren’t supposed to have anything in common. He could see her boots too, scuffed and dirtied a few feet away. As he reached up and rubbed his neck, her feet disappeared from his view. He heard her hands slapping her sides as she made some defeated gesture at his silence.

“Alright, Cullen. See you around.” 

He lifted his head and watched her hair swing past her shoulders as she turned away from him. He remembered what she looked like underneath her casual clothes that Josie complained so much about. He remembered how her hair smelled and what her voice sounded like right next to his ear. He desperately wanted to know those things _better_ and experience them again. 

Instead of doing anything, Cullen steeled himself from such impulses and watched her disappear out onto the battlements. His shoulders hunched when she was gone—he was angry his heart thrummed so rapidly because of some woman he could hardly stand. With time, his attraction would fade. He was confident of that. Or at least he hoped so.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW my friends.

Katria thought it was highly entertaining that Cullen avoided her like she was the Sixth Blight. He kept his head down when he passed her in the Great Hall and looked bashfully away if they locked gazes in the courtyard. 

She pretended like she did not care about his refusal to interact with her. After all, there were _plenty_ of handsome men in Skyhold. Sure, no one had Cullen’s square jaw, prominent nose, that scar that so unfairly drew her attention to his mouth, but he could be replaced, though between training her recruits and preparing for travel to the Winter Palace and the Exalted Plains she did not have much time to try. 

The stress from all her duties was not something she was used to. Life with Clara before the Conclave—those last few years after she had separated from Derek—had been idyllic. Peaceful. Or at least that’s how she remembered it, though nowadays it hurt too much to think of Clara at all. 

The convergence of such unpleasant things made her seek out Skyhold’s cellar of fine liquors and wine. Between Dorian and herself, they were rapidly decreasing the Inquisition’s inventory. Josephine had already chided Dorian about it, but Katria was much more discreet than him. 

She had just procured a bottle of West Hill Brandy and planned on taking it to Dorian in the tavern. As she navigated through the lower level of the castle and approached the stairs, a door beside her flew open and crashed into the wall. 

Cullen stormed out, followed by a well-dressed Orlesian who shouted at him before marching up the stairs. 

“I refuse to continue to teach such a _brute_!” 

“And I refuse to waste my time on such nonsense!” Cullen shot back. He cursed under his breath and turned, freezing when he spotted Katria standing there. 

“Is…everything alright?” she asked tentatively. 

He unclenched his fists. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Trevelyan.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t even tell me what you were doing with some strange Orlesian?” 

“I-,” He made a disgusted noise. “Josephine is trying to _force_ me to—to receive some training from him.” 

Katria quirked an eyebrow. “Training for…?” 

“Dancing,” he ground out. “I don’t know how to, and she says that we need to be prepared for all scenarios at the Winter Palace, therefore I must learn.” He threw up his hand. “It’s an absurd proposition because I will not be dancing with anyone no matter what.” 

She put two fingers over her lips to keep from laughing. “I take it the lesson didn’t go well?” 

Cullen sighed impatiently. “First, he was mad because I was wearing my armor, and then he insisted I practice for _hours_ when clearly a rudimentary understanding of dancing would be adequate. I simply do not have time to accommodate his schedule.” 

“You really shouldn’t wear the armor,” Katria pointed out. “You won’t have it on if you actually dance at the Winter Palace.” 

“I won’t be doing that,” he snapped immediately. 

She raised her hand to placate him. “Right. Of course.” 

Cullen ran his fingers through his hair and looked regretfully up the stone stairs. “Josephine is going to be very angry when I refuse to continue these useless lessons.” 

Katria tongue darted out to wet her lips, making her hesitate before she spoke. “You know, I…could help you, if you wanted.” 

He furrowed his brow. “What?” 

“I am— _was_ a Free Marches noble,” she said. “I know how to dance. I could teach you. I don’t mind meeting at night after your work is done, and I won’t be as hard on you.” 

“Are you…serious?” he asked, dropping his hand and fully facing her. 

Katria shrugged. “I guess. I mean, obviously this is putting you in a shitty mood, and Maker knows you don’t need anything _else_ in your life making you grumpier. I’d probably be doing the Inquisition a favor if I-,” 

“Yes, I get it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I suppose I could tolerate you _slightly_ more than an Orlesian.” 

“You flatter me,” she replied with a smirk. 

“I don’t,” he quickly corrected, a flush on his cheeks as he looked away. “I-I might even ask someone _else_ -,” 

“Oh, really?” she began, arms crossed. “Who exactly? Ellana is getting lessons like you. She can dance, but the Dalish don’t attend Orlesian balls. Cassandra would never agree to help because she hates it as much as you do. Scout Harding is allegedly a good dancer, but she’s left for the Exalted Plains already. I suppose you could ask Vivienne-,” 

“Maker, _fine_ ,” he interrupted exasperatedly.

Her smirked widened; Cullen was either stupid or a glutton for punishment because dancing would do nothing to quell the attraction she knew he felt. Though perhaps that’s why she made the offer in the first place.

“Send along a message to me if you have time in the next few days to practice,” she said. “And, really, don’t wear your armor. At least for one session.” 

“I—alright,” he said. “I will not wear my armor once.” 

She wiggled her eyebrows. “I look forward to that.” 

Cullen scowled. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, as he strode away from her down the hall. “If you keep—being so unserious, I won’t show up!” 

“Now who’s the liar?” she called after him. 

The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut as Cullen disappeared. Katria pulled the bottle of brandy from behind her back and inspected it. Now she had a damn good reason for wanting a drink. 

===

An entire week passed before Cullen sent a messenger to Katria. He wrote a terse note asking her to meet him, mostly because Josephine kept pestering him about continuing his lessons with someone. He understood their ambassador’s desire to ensure that they were prepared at Halamshiral, but he would not be dancing. Not at all. Not even if Empress Celene’s life depended on it, probably. 

He was late that night meeting her. He was distracted by reports and then very reluctant to shed his armor. He was stronger in it—the Commander of the Inquisition, protected against all his troubles. Without it, he was exposed. And he did not want to feel like that around Katria. 

Once he finally reached the room for their meeting, he found her inside, sitting on a crate widdling a stick with the dagger she always kept on her person. The area was fairly well-lit from the torches along the wall—it was empty and secluded, the perfect place to avoid any prying eyes. He did not want it to be known that he was taking _dancing_ lessons. 

She tucked her blade back in her belt when she saw him. “Took you long enough.” 

“I had work,” Cullen replied as he walked further into the room. 

“I would be mad, but you’re the only one between us bothered by lateness,” she said.

He sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Gladly,” Katria replied once she walked over to him. “How far did that Orlesian get with you before you stormed out?” 

“Not far,” Cullen admitted. “I…know the basic steps of some traditional Orlesian dance I forgot the name of.” 

“Alright, well, we can start there.” She took a small step closer, and his eyes darted away. Her hand reached up and rested on his shoulder. “You at least know what to do right now, don’t you? Behave.” 

“I do not need to be told to _behave_ ,” he sputtered as he reluctantly put a hand on her waist and held the other out for her to clasp. He hoped she did not notice his palms were sweating. 

“You would be surprised what some men would do on the dance floor. Or what they’ll grope,” she said, then tilted her head sideways. “I’ll lead for now.” 

She immediately began to move, and he stumbled a little, trying to remember the few things the Orlesian had told him about this dance. She went very slowly the first few minutes. 

“Stop looking at our feet,” she eventually said, though Cullen hesitated before lifting his head. Looking at her was—difficult. Her lips were thin, but they looked soft; he wanted to trace her cheekbone with his finger, bury his hands in her hair. All _unacceptable_ actions. 

Still, he tried to keep his gaze level and be professional. Katria was a good dancer. Her combat style looked so choreographed in the sparring ring he was not surprised. She could be just as graceful with daggers in her hands. 

Keeping his head up didn’t work for long. He stepped on her foot, and they both stumbled. 

“Sorry,” Cullen said immediately, flushing red. 

“It’s alright,” she replied as she maneuvered away and resumed their steps. “I know what the problem is.” 

“You do?” 

Katria lifted her hand from his shoulder and tapped his forehead with one finger. “You’re thinking too much. Over-analyzing.” 

“Of course I’m thinking about this,” he said. “I don’t know how to dance.” 

“You know the steps, and you’re a quick learner,” she protested. “You just need to relax.” 

“I am perfectly relaxed,” he insisted. 

Katria snorted in reply. “Let’s talk about something else. To take your mind off…” She gestured to the circle they were making around the room. “This.” 

“I don’t want to get in an argument with you,” Cullen said. 

“We don’t fight every time we talk.” 

He adjusted the hand at her waist—he did not want to position it too high. Or too low, even. There were too many parts of this woman he was tempted to touch. 

“We do, actually.” 

Katria huffed. “I suppose. But we can attempt civility. For example, we can talk about…Ferelden. Where you’re from.” 

Cullen scrutinized her, but then decided a benign conversation with her probably wouldn’t kill him. “A town called Honnleath.” 

“I’ve been there,” she said. “Well—what’s left of it. Not much there after the Blight. Is your family still around?” 

He shook his head. “No, they fled to South Reach and have been there ever since.”

“Well, I hope they stay safe with everything that’s happening,” she remarked, and Cullen narrowed his eyes. 

“Really?” 

“Um, yes?” she began with a wrinkled brow. “Is it so unreasonable I wouldn’t want your family to be harmed? I mean, I assume they’re not half as annoying as you are.” 

“Because they aren’t Templars?” 

“Exactly. You’re catching on.” 

Cullen sighed and stopped them, dropping his hand from hers. “Are we done yet?” 

“It’s been minutes!” 

“Well, it seems like I’ve got the hang of it!” he insisted. 

“No,” she said, taking his hand again. “No, we’re doing more. Messing up a dance is political suicide in Orlais, and Josie won’t forgive me if that happens because we did this for ten minutes then quit.” 

“I am not going to dance at the Winter Palace,” he growled. 

“Lead this time,” she ordered, and he hesitated before taking the first step towards her while tightening his grip on her hand. 

She danced with him in silence for a while, letting him concentrate and occasionally glance down at his feet. Their bodies cast long shadows through the room that darted from the floor to the wall as they moved. He refused to admit that he was perhaps enjoying himself. Or at least that this was better than some snide Orlesian being far too picky about his technique. 

“You might dance at Halamshiral, you know,” Katria eventually remarked. 

“And why would that be?” he asked. 

“What if you meet a woman?” 

Cullen snorted, but she pressed forward. “It’s possible! Surely you’ve heard of such things. Especially from those romance novels Cassandra likes so much.” She gestured to his chest. “The handsome eligible bachelor encounters the mysterious and alluring princess, and they fall in love-,” 

“In this scenario, the woman you’re describing is Orlesian,” Cullen pointed out. “So, no thank you.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “They won’t all be Orlesian,” she said. “And if you meet someone, you’ll want to ask her to dance. To express your feelings.” 

“What?” he said incredulously. 

“Dancing in Orlais is another way to communicate. To play the Game,” Katria explained, though Cullen just groaned. 

“It’s true,” she insisted. “People dance different ways depending on whom they’re with. An enemy, friend, secret lover, perhaps.” 

“I don’t care about this,” he said. 

“You might thank me later,” Katria replied. “For example, when you find your mysterious lady love-,” 

“Maker’s breath.” 

“You want to dance like _this_.”

Katria’s hand traveled along his shoulder then wrapped a little ways around his neck, forcing their bodies closer together. She positioned his hand further around her waist and lower; his muscles tensed, though he didn’t move away because…well, she was very soft. 

“How many times do I have to say that I will not be dancing at _all_?” Cullen said, to divert himself from the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest. It was—Maker, it was so damn distracting. He’d worn his breastplate during that first time; there had been so much between them, and now there wasn’t. Rough-spun fabric was the only thing separating him from her bare skin—the warmth of it radiated out, enticing. He wanted to gather her in his arms and feel every inch of her against him. 

She smiled, teeth shining as they swept through a shadowy part of the room. As the light hit her eyes, he noticed a ring of brown around her pupils. He had thought they were only blue. They brightened as they crossed towards the door. 

“Let me show you how to dip someone!” 

He stiffened when her hands began to move. “What? _No_ ,” he said immediately because, Maker, her leading was emasculating enough and- 

He felt his body leaning back as she gave him a small push, then her arm trying to hold him up, except he was squirming and far too heavy, so she dropped him. His hands shot out under him to catch himself, palms slapping against the cold stone floor. 

“Oh!” Katria blurted out, staggering with one foot to stop herself from falling over him. She had one hand still on his shoulder and giggled. “Sorry…” 

“This is why I don’t dance,” Cullen said. He bent his knees to stand. 

“You shouldn’t have moved!” she replied as she extended a hand to him. 

He obliged, and she helped pull him up. She used enough momentum that their bodies bumped together once he stood, far too close considering the thoughts Cullen kept having. 

Katria tilted her head up slightly and grinned at him. “Are you okay?” 

He swallowed, holding himself back though every part of him felt like it was vibrating from the tension of it. “You did this on purpose.” 

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Well, not the part where I dropped you, but…” 

Cullen leaned forward, then halted with a heavy exhale. “You are sneaky and manipulative, and I don’t like it.” 

“I think you do, actually,” she whispered, then her teeth dragged down across her lower lip, making it flush red. 

His eyes darted towards the closed door. They were alone. In the bowels of Skyhold where no one would find them. Maker, he wasn’t supposed to want this. 

“Cullen-,” 

He grabbed the nape of her neck to tilt her head and kiss her. Or smash their lips together while he pushed her against the wall. She melted immediately against him with a small moan, like she was not surprised in the slightest by his actions. Her fingers dug into his hair, though not gently. 

Then her hands were underneath his shirt, fingernails dragging across his back and along the muscles of his stomach. Her mouth opened to him, lengthening their rough kiss even as he pulled back a few times to take shaky breaths. 

Part of him stopped paying attention to what he was doing. He’d been at the edge of this precipice, and now he’d fallen, rapidly gaining momentum the longer she pressed herself against him. He tugged at her tunic, explored underneath it, yanked down her breast band to run his hands along her chest. 

Katria sighed and arched her back into him, letting him kiss her neck, until her nails dug into his shoulder. 

“Cullen,” she gasped. “O-Oh, Cullen—wait.” 

He stopped, panting, and lifted his eyes to hers. Her breaths came out in short puffs against his face. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to stop himself from kissing her. 

“Is this what you want?” she asked. 

“What?” he said, the word coming out with a heavy breath. “It’s—I want you.” 

“Now, maybe,” she replied. “But in two minutes, when it’s over, are we just going to have the same discussion from a few weeks ago?” 

He shifted, tried not to groan as his hardened cock rubbed against her thigh. 

“ _Two minutes_?”

She slumped back against the wall. “Not the point of my comment, you dolt.” 

He shook his head. “I want…” He stopped and swallowed. “You were right, and it’s the only thing I’ve enjoyed, and I can’t stop thinking about you—your, you know…not _you_. Parts of you. Because we established that we’re not—I just…” 

“Maker, stop talking.” 

Her hands caged his face and pulled them back together—a short, fierce kiss before she wrapped her legs around his waist while he pinned most of her weight to the wall. He reached behind him, fumbling until he found the tip of her boot and pulled it. She pried the other one off when her foot was free. Cullen tried unlacing her breeches to little avail. 

“Don’t have much experience with this, do you?” she asked. 

Cullen gave her a withering glare while she grinned back at him. Her legs unhooked from his hips, and she wiggled out of her breeches, then her smalls dropped down on top of them, and he was not so annoyed with her. 

He dragged his fingertips lightly down her stomach then lower between her legs, stroking her, his other hand flat against the wall by her shoulder as he leaned into her. She groaned, the sound muffled because her face was buried in his neck. He could feel her breathing fast and hard against his skin—it was immensely satisfying to see that he had the same effect on her as she did on him. She writhed as he pressed her to the wall; she begged him for more; she was wet for him and maybe this wasn’t a game for her any longer. Her hands eventually grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. 

She was very intentional after that. And quick. She didn’t kiss him again, and she certainly didn’t say his name. Her slender fingers unclasped his belt, his breeches, then her hand was around his cock and his anxiety was ground into dust. He could concentrate wholly on _her_ , how nice it felt—his focus could be distilled to that moment and nothing else, no matter how fleeting it was. 

Katria slid her bare leg up along his thigh. She made a startled squeak when he hooked an arm under her knee to hoist her high up the wall before she wrapped her other leg around him. 

“Maker, _please_ ,” she whined, rubbing herself against him in her limited range.

He tugged his cock free from his pants and pushed himself into her then—because if he didn’t, he thought he might burst, and because he wasn’t sure how long he could hold her that way against the wall. She cried out and twisted her hands into his tunic. He rutted against her, listening to the small noises she made each time he thrust forward, but even then he was distracted by the rush of blood in his ears. 

A moan left her lips after a few minutes and she threw her head back, her hips bucking more urgently against his. He thought maybe he should be alarmed—the sound she made could carry down into the hallway where some unsuspecting messenger was waiting, but a second later he was just as loud. His knees buckled a little when he finished, and he groaned because the feeling of emptying himself inside her tore at his every fiber, filled his senses—Maker, it felt so, _so_ good. 

After that, the muscles in his arms began to tremble, and in his haze, he felt her leg slipping from his grasp. His elbow straightened, while his other hand on her opposite thigh also lost its grip, which sent her sliding back down the wall and onto her feet. 

Katria made a surprised sound and removed her hands from his shoulders to catch herself. 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen sputtered, the fog in his brain only somewhat lifted. 

She was still trying to catch her breath, but smiled slightly. “It’s okay. Now we’re even—I dropped you, you dropped me. I might be a bit too tall for this.” 

“No,” he said quickly. “It was— _I_ was…” 

Katria placed her thumb on his chin and the rest of her fingers underneath. “You don’t have to say anything about it,” she said. “Unless you want to stop in the future.” 

Cullen exhaled. There was sweat across his brow that had matted some of his hair on his forehead. He would have to fix it before he left the room.

“I…don’t want to stop.” 

Her hand dropped to his chest, fingers splaying across the flushed skin at the opening of his tunic. She slid sideways out of his grasp, bent down for her breeches and jumped quickly into them like…like nothing had happened. 

Katria hopped around in an attempt to slide on her boots, then straightened and pulled her hair around the side of her neck that was red from where he had kissed it.

“If you ended a dance like _that_ at the Winter Palace, we’d have no problem recruiting allies.” 

Cullen gave a huff of a laugh. “No, thank you. Though I will admit I liked your method of teaching more than anyone else’s.” 

“You need more practice,” Katria said. “With the dancing. Not the sex.” She passed him and patted his arm. “I’ll see you around. If you’re not busy with work—well, my door’s always open.” 

“It’s—oh, um…” He was blushing then, but she wasn’t even looking at him, just grabbing her jacket and disappearing through the door with a wave. 

He stood with his arms crossed for a while, in an attempt to process what just happened. What messy, convoluted thing he'd agreed to. He wanted to regret his actions—he _thought_ he would—but Katria made it so uncomplicated. She was not some life-long or romantic partner, yet he wanted her, and perhaps, for now, it could work. He had never really done something like this for such a prolonged time, but his allegiance to the Inquisition and departure from Kirkwall was meant to be a fresh start for him anyway. 

Cullen meticulously rearranged his hair before he left the room. Avoiding Katria was obviously a strategy that would not work, whether because of his attraction to her or the fact that they worked so closely together. If she offered this, and it made him…feel more at ease, then it was a worth shot, provided things remained uncomplicated. Though it occurred to him that when it came to himself and Katria that was probably not a safe bet to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THIS ARTS [ON MY TUMBLR](http://ces479.tumblr.com/post/130290509298/heathwind-blog-commission-for-ces479-look)
> 
> In addition to being awesome art, I think it fairly captures Kat and Cullen's dynamic in all my stories, but it's especially applicable to Refraction. I love romance, but teasing rivals? Sign me up! ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today, but the next two will hopefully come in quick succession!

Katria did not normally make rules for herself—she was far too laid back for that—but her situation with Cullen necessitated such things. She knew from experience that this sort of arrangement could snowball into something worse at either end of the relationship. ‘Something worse’ being actual feelings or intimacy; neither were things she ever wanted or was looking for at the Inquisition. 

Thus, she fashioned straight-forward and logical guidelines for herself; she could not be focused on _him_ , she could not lay down or talk after they’d slept together. Considering it was Cullen, these were not difficult things to do. Most of their conversations ended in an argument anyway, which did nothing to encourage camaraderie between them.

He had only shown up once outside her room before she was scheduled to leave for the Exalted Plains. It was late, and he appeared with some flimsy excuse about delivering a set of reports to her that she already had copies of. It might be adorable if it weren’t Cullen. 

There was nothing memorable after she invited him inside; he didn’t even take his armor off because he had some meeting. She didn’t care either way because their sex wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with him. 

The day before her departure, Katria ventured into the garden. She was hoping to harvest some elfroot she’d planted in the flowerbed nearest to the Chantry. Healing herbs were always a part of the supplies that were loaded for them onto the Inquisition’s caravans, but Katria was still not used to relying on others to do things for her when she traveled. 

Ellana was nearby at the chess set, with Cullen, of all people. She knew that the two of them were friends, although Cullen was probably too professional and serious to create anything meaningful. 

She walked over to them, hopping up two stones steps and resting her elbow along the back of Ellana’s chair. 

“Promise me you’re winning, Ellana,” she said. “Our Commander doesn’t need another reason to be so smug.” 

“I’m afraid I’m losing,” Ellana replied, her chin rested in her hand as she surveyed the board. The green from her mark seeped through the pale skin on her fingers.

“ _You_ are complaining about someone being smug?” Cullen remarked, tossing her a skeptical look as he moved one of his pieces. 

She smirked back at him. “You can’t categorize me as smug because I’m simply the _best_.” 

He just snorted in reply, then smiled apologetically at Ellana. “Checkmate, Inquisitor.” 

Ellana slumped back against her chair and threw up her hands. “Mythal’s—good game, Cullen. I’m suitably impressed.” She grinned. “Perhaps I’ll be a formidable opponent the next time we play.” 

He tilted his head. “I look forward to it.” 

Ellana turned sideways, her smile brightening infinitely. Katria twisted also, but frowned instead because Solas was walking by, holding heavy tomes in one hand. 

Ellana rose to her feet. Her cheeks were stained red. “You know, I was—maybe I should…” 

Katria narrowed her eyes slightly, but stepped aside. “By all means, go catch up with that boyfriend of yours.” 

“He’s—we have a meeting,” Ellana explained sheepishly.

“Make good choices!” Katria called after her, as she scurried to the garden path where Solas had stopped—to his credit, he did look as happy to see her as she did seeing him. 

Once she was gone, Katria slumped down in the chair across from Cullen. 

“You don’t have to mother her like that,” he remarked. 

“I am not,” she protested indignantly. “I merely try to remind her to remain vigilant when it comes to who she…associates with.” 

Cullen rested his elbows on his knees. “You have a problem with Solas?” 

“As wise as he thinks he is, he’s a bit condescending,” she said. “And we don’t know much about his past, yet he continues to…try to _romance_ Ellana. Who is a wonderful, confident and morally-upright woman, but also a bit…impressionable.”

“No one knows much about your past either,” Cullen pointed out. “Does that mean you’re untrustworthy?” 

“Leliana knows plenty,” Katria said with a wave of her hand. 

“What? That you were raised in Ostwick and used to be a noble?” he asked. “That’s not exactly a trove of information. I’m sure I know even less.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t shout out personal information about myself when we’re having sex,” Katria replied, to which Cullen jolted a little and flushed red. 

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “You don’t have to-,” 

“That’s why it’s different,” Katria insisted. “Information about me isn’t important because I’m not…getting attached. But Ellana is really falling for Solas, and yet she knows so little about this…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Old man,” she muttered. 

Cullen laughed. “Because you’re just the picture of youth.” 

“Oh you prick!” she exclaimed and threw a spare chess piece at him. 

He caught it and was probably insufferably impressed with himself for it. “Bit sensitive, Trevelyan.”

“Don’t make me start on you,” Katria said, wagging a finger at him. “I’m certain we are close to the same age.” 

Cullen put the chess piece back on the board. “And yet despite that you manage to act so much more childish than I do.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Was _fun_ the word you were looking for?” 

“Childish,” he repeated. He paused and gestured to the board. “Do you play?” 

“Better than you, probably,” she replied, which made him scoff. She stood. “Though I don’t have time now. We leave for the Exalted Plains tomorrow, and I’ve hardly packed.” 

Cullen rose to his feet also, hand on his sword. Katria leaned a little closer. 

“Though if you’re not busy, I _could_ make time for a…brief meeting in the Chantry,” she said, eyes flicking over to the small room on the other side of the garden before her eyebrows gave a suggestive wiggle. 

He balked. “Maker’s—absolutely _not_ ,” he sputtered. “It’s a Chantry. A place of _worship_.” 

Katria tapped her knuckle against his breastplate. “Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, blushing. “How could you…” 

“It’s just a room,” Katria said. “With a door that locks. I recall that I lost my virginity in a Chantry, actually.” 

He squeezed past her to get to the garden path. “You did _not_ need to tell me that.”

“Well now you know more about me,” she said as she rested her hand on her hip. 

Cullen met her gaze—he was actually _smiling_ a little—before he looked away. “Good day, Trevelyan.” 

“Commander,” she said to his back as he strode off. 

Katria glanced back down at the chessboard, organized in his meticulous way, each piece perfectly centered in its individual square. She tapped her foot against the stone under her, contemplating, because for the first time, their conversation ended with both of them smiling. 

=== 

The Exalted Plains was a wasteland of corpses and Orlesians, so basically, it was Katria’s worst nightmare. The excessive amount of traveling they did certainly took its toll; Katria fared better than Cassandra or Dorian, though Ellana was much more springy and resilient in the wilderness than even her. 

The Inquisitor’s contact with the Dalish revitalized her. Communicating with her people and attempting to help them put a smile on her face—she was proud of her heritage, and it showed. Katria could also tell that Ellana deeply missed her family, wherever they were. That was not a feeling Katria could relate to. 

Despite the trials in Orlais, Katria wasn’t looking forward to returning to Skyhold. The banquet at the Winter Palace loomed closer with each passing day. If there’s anything Katria hated more than corpses or demons, it was nobles. She had not been in contact with that life for a decade; she was almost 22 when she left Ostwick, ostensibly shedding her noble title and the luxuries associated with it. Returning to that gilded bubble did not excite her. 

There was one exception to her reticence to return. She would be loathe to admit it out loud, but Katria did…mourn her loss of contact with Cullen. _Physical_ contact. She did not miss him as a person. Just his large hands and muscular arms and other more functional parts of him she needed in order to have sex with him. Very technical and very true because she was still not sure they were even civil to one another. 

Two months in, they returned to Skyhold with a quick turnaround planned for their journey to Halamshiral. Katria tried to extract herself from that commitment, but apparently since she was _technically_ still a noble, she would have more political capital than Ellana’s other companions, excluding Dorian or Vivienne. Cassandra might have been a valuable asset at the Winter Palace had she not vowed to punch a wall repeatedly if dragged along.

Katria went to bathe after unloading her things, mostly because despite washing off multiple times in multiple rivers, she still felt as if the gunk from the undead was clinging to her. She also ached for an opportunity to be truly alone—she liked her companions, but could only tolerate Ellana and Solas being frustratingly _romantic_ and Dorian talking so zealously about himself for so long. 

The sun was setting when she climbed up the battlements. She was waffling between visiting Cullen and heading to the tavern. She did not want to appear too eager to see him, even if she was actually looking forward to it. 

Cullen’s office was empty when she opened the door, which was unusual for him because he was always working. She walked over to his ladder, craning her neck up—she could hear the creak of his floorboards, so she began to climb. Just as her head cleared the second story, she opened her mouth to say something. 

Katria was interrupted by—by Cullen’s _arse_. Words jammed together in some thorny road block in her throat because he was there and _naked_ , his back to her, pulling a pair of breeches up to his hips. 

He was an impressive specimen. She had never actually seen him without any clothes, yet here he was, shirtless, breeches half pulled-up, and each expanse of his skin showed evidence of his hard training. Scars littered his skin, but she was much, _much_ more interested in the cords of muscle down his back, on his arse; it was embarrassing, but she ogled at him for a few precious seconds. 

Katria shifted on the ladder, making the wood creak, and Cullen immediately twisted around with a shocked expression. He had not pulled up his breeches all the way, so that violent movement sent him staggering sideways. He tumbled to the floor with a strangled noise. 

“Oh!” Katria leapt up the remaining rungs and hurried around the bed. “Are you alright?” 

Cullen had kicked out of his pants while on the floor, now completely naked and red up to his ears. He lurched towards one of the pillows on his bed and used it to cover himself. 

“You—w-what are you doing here?” he demanded. 

She giggled. “That’s a stupid question, don’t you think?” 

“I-,” He made a frustrated noise. “I don’t have time for you!” 

Katria crossed her arms over her chest and looked beside her. A red coat embroidered with gold was discarded on the floor. It was the same one Josephine had delivered to her room earlier. 

“Our attire for the Winter Palace,” she said. 

“Yes,” Cullen grumbled, sitting up, pillow still held firm. “Josephine insisted I try it on after the final fitting. The coat is far too tight.” 

“It’s supposed to be like that,” Katria said. 

“Well I don’t like it,” he replied. “I don’t see why I even need to be present in the ballroom. I should be outside in my armor.” 

“I don’t want my dancing lessons to go to waste, though,” she said with a grin. 

Cullen glared at her. “They will. I’m _not_ dancing.” He waved her away. “Could you—go? I want to get dressed.” 

Katria gave a small laugh. “I’ve seen everything you’re covering up, you know.” 

“I’m aware,” he snapped. 

She knelt down between his legs, just in front of the pillow. He didn’t move, but his eyes did narrow. 

“You must have missed me,” Katria said. 

“Parts of you.” 

She positively beamed at his quip and pitched forward so she was pressed against him. “I can say the same. So maybe we should get reacquainted.” 

Cullen appraised her until his iron grip on the pillow slowly loosened. She leaned forward, close enough to kiss him. 

“I don’t have much time,” he said, as his hand reached up and traced the line of her tunic. 

“Oh, I prefer if that way,” she replied. Their lips met, and he fell backwards against the floor, bringing her with him. She immediately slid her tongue into his mouth with a small groan, reveling at the contact with him that she’d been without for quite a while. His hand trailed down her spine to her arse, hitching her closer to him. 

Then the loud slam of a door echoed up the walls, and they both froze. 

A merry voice called up to them. “Commander Cullen! How does it fit?” 

Cullen leapt to his feet, hauling Katria off him so she fell in a pile of limbs to the floor. He scrambled for the sheet on his bed. 

“Don’t say anything,” he hissed, before he lifted his head to speak louder. “Lady—Josephine, don’t come up! I’m-,” 

“Oh!” 

Katria jerked her legs towards her and rolled against the bed, hiding there as Josephine’s head popped into the room. She would not be visible from their ambassador’s vantage point, hopefully. 

Cullen tightened the sheet around his waist. “It fits fine, Josephine.” 

She didn’t sound as embarrassed as he did. “Are you sure? If you’d be willing to put it on one more time, I can ensure-,” 

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “I’d rather not wear it again. Or ever.” 

Josephine sighed. “If you wish. Just do _not_ forget to hang it properly because we can’t arrive at the Winter Palace wearing anything wrinkled.” 

“I will,” he said exasperatedly, as if he were speaking to his nagging mother. 

“Good,” she replied. “Forgive me for the interruption then, Commander.” 

Josephine made it down a few rungs. “Oh, before I forget, the sash needs to be-,” 

“I’d really like to put some clothes on,” Cullen interjected. 

“Of course,” she replied, then finally reached the floor of his office and scurried off. 

Katria rolled back into view once she heard the door close again. “I’m starting to think you’re ashamed of me, Cullen.” 

He turned, brow raised. “You _just_ started thinking that?” 

Her leg shot out to kick him. “Fuck you.” 

“I’m out of time for that.” 

A sharp laugh left her throat. The fact that this man could make her smile was a little surprising. “Well maybe you won’t be busy later,” she said, as she raised herself onto her elbows. 

“I…” He cleared his throat and glanced over at her—the sheet around his hips did little to hide the damning evidence about how much he was anticipating seeing her. “Perhaps I will find some time.” 

Katria stood, reaching out to put both palms against his chest, muscles tightening under her touch. Maker, he was impressive. 

“I look forward to it,” she said, hands drifting lower to the line of the sheet along his stomach. She tried to dip her fingers inside, but he swatted her away. 

“Later,” he growled. 

“See you then,” she said, smirking. 

Cullen passed her to get to his armor stand, and she slapped his arse. He twisted around with a scowl, but she was gone before he could snap at her. She laughed until she was well outside his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most excellent Feralise made this awesome piece of [art](http://ces479.tumblr.com/post/129347950453/feralise-dressing-maker-help-me-i-did-it-i%20) that was my inspiration for the last scene of this chapter! It's NSFW, but in the best way possible because it involves Cullen. ;)


	16. Chapter 16

“You must dance with me, Commander. You cannot stand about all evening!”

“I’m afraid not, thank you.” 

The air tightened more around Cullen. It felt like every time he offered some polite rejection to his circle of admirers they pressed in, faceless and eager. Well-dressed vultures that could not take a hint. 

Cullen swallowed and looked down at his boots. The cool wall behind him was his only respite, though he was not sure how much longer his defense would last. The minute he had stepped out of the Inquisition’s carriage inside the castle grounds, he’d felt like prey— _easy_ prey because he was so inept and frustrated by these matters and yet no one would leave him _alone_.

He could hardly see through the crowds of people that the Inquisitor and the others had re-entered the ballroom of the Winter Palace. Ellana strode forward, face hardened—she was so small, yet carried herself bravely in this dangerous space and drew the attention of most of the room. 

Not all that attention was good though. Ellana was both Dalish and a mage. She received no warm welcome at the Winter Palace for it—Cullen heard smatterings of conversation at the beginning of the evening where some nobles had gone far enough to call her a heathen. It disturbed him. Ellana had the finest moral character out of anyone in the room, and yet she was subject to such negative scrutiny. 

Ellana fared well enough as the night dragged on, though Cullen did not really have the tools to gauge her favorability. She was polite and willing to help whoever needed it, no matter how little these nobles probably deserved it. 

Katria was there, too, unrefined as ever. From what he could tell, she spent most of her time around the table piled with tiny cakes, drinking and sniggering with Dorian. 

He could see Katria now, slipping between the clusters of people in his direction, eyes on the ballroom floor where Ellana was dancing. She was always looking to protect, it seemed. 

She looked…nice. Her normal clothes around Skyhold rarely fit right and were often covered in dirt from training or gardening, but Josephine had been persuasive and crammed her into one of their coordinating outfits. It wrapped snugly across her waist and chest, down her legs—not that he’d been paying particular attention to those parts of her. 

“Are you married, Commander?” 

Cullen turned sideways, grimacing. Another question. This time from a woman—she’d introduced herself, but he’d forgotten her name. 

“I’m…ah, married to my work,” he replied. 

She giggled in a way only an Orlesian could, a petite gloved hand moving to cover her mouth. “You’re still single, then? You must dance with me!” 

Cullen leaned further against the wall. “I’m afraid I can’t.” 

“Oh, you must!” she said earnestly, hand reaching out to rest on his arm. Cullen tensed, resisting the urge to tear himself away, and instead simply moved so his fingers were laced together behind his back. 

“No thank you,” he said.

His heart rate skyrocketed—he could feel it in his hands, his ears, because part of him knew this woman was the type to push harder, to apply more sharp, polite pressure when he was so close to fracturing.

Cullen shrank away, and the woman smiled indulgently. He contemplated his best mode of escape when someone broke quite decisively into his circle. 

“Commander.” 

It was Katria, standing with one brow slightly cocked, her lips curved in that frustrating and mischievous grin. She stepped closer to him—her hand disappeared briefly into one of the many folds of the gown of the noblewoman. 

Katria grabbed his arm. “You must forgive the intrusion, but I have an urgent matter to discuss.” 

Before he could reply, she dragged him away. He overcame his confusion in a matter of seconds and hurried to meet up with her. 

Katria led him out to the balcony nearby. The air was cold, but Cullen found it a refreshing change from the warm and perfume-saturated atmosphere of the ballroom. 

“What did you do to that woman’s dress?” he asked, watching as she rested both elbows on the balcony railing. 

She smirked. “Earwig.” 

Cullen lowered his head. “The _bug_?”

“Yeah, Sera has a box of them. She-,” 

They heard a loud shriek from the ballroom. Cullen immediately straightened, eyes flying to the window as he saw the noblewoman who had been harassing him flailing a few steps and frantically shaking her skirt. 

Katria covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain her laughter. He shook his head and leaned beside her. 

“We’re supposed to be searching for an assassin,” he snapped. 

She rolled her eyes. “Do you have any capacity for fun?” 

“This is a serious matter,” he said. “Leliana told me you were going to the servant’s quarters. What happened?” 

Her expression turned somber, shoulders slumping. She clasped her hands together over the railing. “Nothing good. The servants were…slaughtered. By Venatori. The assassination attempt will definitely happen tonight.”

“Maker,” Cullen muttered. He glanced over at her, watching as her jaw clenched and she shifted impatiently on her feet. He knew her—this part, at least. How physically uncomfortable the truth made her. Playing pranks with bugs to avoid acknowledging how much the evening had fallen apart. 

She clenched her hand. “It just…makes me so _angry_ ,” she said. “The servants are viewed as so inconsequential in this stupid Game, and I…don’t know how much longer I can handle it without snapping.” 

Cullen bowed his head. “I know. I feel the same way.” 

Katria gave a heavy sigh. “The sooner we save the Empress and leave, the better.” 

“I don’t know,” Cullen said, shifting. “Perhaps we should allow Gaspard to rise to power instead. Orlais needs someone capable of responding to the crisis at hand.” 

She twisted to him, frowning. “You can’t be serious.” 

Cullen leaned back. “A military-minded leader would be the best option.” 

“That’s not the Inquisition’s call to make,” she protested. “We shouldn’t let Celene _die_ just for the sake of politics. Then we’re just another one of _them_.” Her arm shot out back to the window, where nobles continued to mill around. 

“We have no obligation to save Celene,” Cullen replied. “She’s just one person, and we must consider what’s best for the nation. For Thedas. Orlais keeps Tevinter at bay, and Celene is-,” 

“Celene is not obsessed with the military so of course you don’t approve of her,” she snapped. 

Cullen frowned. “I’m not going to argue with you, Trevelyan.” 

Her jaw stuck out in a mulish expression. “I—fine.” 

He placed both hands on the railing. “I’m sure Ellana will make the right decision. I trust her.” 

“I just want this night to be over,” she grumbled. “I’m—I don’t know, I’m going to find some alcohol.” 

“Stay vigilant,” Cullen ordered. “Considering your history, I don’t need you getting so drunk you’re vomiting over the balcony rather than protecting Ellana.” 

Katria threw back her head and laughed. “You have too little faith in me.” 

“Somehow I doubt that.” He stood and grimaced as he looked into the ballroom. “I should go and alert my men about what happened in the servant’s quarters. I will send some down to secure the area.” 

“Good idea,” she said as she faced him. There was something matted in her hair—blood or dirt from where she’d been fighting. She probably missed it while changing into her formal attire. 

Cullen inspected her hair more closely. Josephine must have done something to make it more glossy and straight. The thickness reminded him of a horse’s mane, which…was probably not something she would like hearing. 

His mind wandered to what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, push it aside to kiss her neck—he turned away slightly and cleared his throat. 

“You, um…have something in your hair.” 

“Oh,” she said, letting the strands fall over her shoulder as she inspected them. 

Cullen reached out and rubbed the spot himself. When he looked at the leather on his glove, there was a reddish brown stain. 

“Blood.” 

Katria pushed the strands back, lips pursed. “I’ve killed one too many people at this party.” 

“It will be over soon,” Cullen said. He paused and clenched his hands nervously. “Your, ah…hair. It looks fine. I mean, _good_. I like it.” 

She cocked her head slightly. “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t do it myself, obviously, but Josephine insisted my appearance needed a little _work_ for the evening. We can’t all be effortlessly handsome like you.” 

He felt himself reddening. “Ah—well. I should go.” 

“Be safe,” she said with a nod. Then she winked. “Let me know if you’d like to have a more _private_ meeting later.” 

Cullen just made a disgusted noise as she walked away. Though part of him was tempted to take her up on the offer. Might make the evening even a _little_ more enjoyable. 

===

Katria’s experience at her first noble event in ten years only got worse as the evening progressed. More people to kill, more secrets to uncover, and then Grand Duchess Florianne was pointing an arrow in their faces rambling about her allegiance to Corypheus.

Typical for a spoiled noble brat to see nothing beyond her own visions of power. She didn’t care at all that the basement of this castle was littered with the bodies of innocent people. She only cared about herself. 

In the chaos of closing the rift and fighting Florianne’s men, Katria did not have time to ask Ellana what her game plan was. They merely sprinted back to the vestibule—whether to save Celene or not, Katria didn’t know. It wasn’t her choice. 

The two of them approached Leliana and Cullen when they opened the heavy doors to the ballroom. Katria kept her eyes on Florianne, and Ellana talked to Cullen. The Grand Duchess was across the room with her brother, both their faces stoic. 

“As you command, Inquisitor.” 

Katria watched as Ellana nodded to Cullen then disappeared into the crowds gathering to watch Celene’s speech. 

“Florianne likely has operatives in the ballroom ready to strike when she does,” Katria said to Leliana. 

She nodded curtly in reply. “We are prepared.” 

Celene walked primly to the front of the room, stopping at the balcony overlooking the dance floor. Her voice carried far and confidently, though Katria did not pay attention to her words. 

She counted the number of palace guards, the remaining elven servants, observed Gaspard as he stood below Celene. Florianne hovered in the corner—but Maker, where was Ellana? 

A wave of applause rolled through the room, and Celene held out her arms. 

“Tonight, the war dividing us must end.” 

Katria moved so she was beside Cullen and grabbed his arm. “Where is Ellana?” she hissed. 

Cullen hesitated, then met her gaze. “I have my orders, Trevelyan.”

“Orders?” 

“The Inquisitor told me to wait until Florianne strikes.” 

Katria’s jaw slacked—Celene would die by their hands. The thought sapped the air from her lungs. “No—we can’t-,” Her neck snapped back around to the front. Florianne was in view now, addressing the court. 

“My friends, we are here to witness an historic moment,” she said, sliding ever closer to the Empress. “A great change is coming for all of us.” 

Florianne would strike _now_. Katria lurched forward, trying to reach Celene or shout or warn her, but Cullen grabbed her by her waist. She squirmed in his arms, then spun around, brow arched in. “Cullen-,” 

She was cut off by the collective gasp of the Court, and the horrified shrieks that tumbled afterwards. Florianne stepped away from Celene, clutching a long dagger dripping with blood. 

Celene’s mouth was open wide as she clutched her stomach, staggering forward against the railing, staining it red, before she collapsed on the ground. Ellana leapt out in front of Florianne and said something that was drowned out by the panic spreading quickly through the room. 

Florianne looked out across the dance floor. “For Corypheus!” she exclaimed. “Kill them.” 

Katria could watch no longer because she heard the clink of metal beside her. One of Florianne’s men was near them, brandishing a dagger and lunging for her. 

She shoved Cullen out of the way, opting for the knife on her belt as she ducked then swiped it across her opponent’s neck. He collapsed, though more of them continued to attack Inquisition soldiers. 

“Go after Ellana!” Cullen ordered. “I’ll protect the people.”

Katria cursed under her breath before nodding to him and breaking into a sprint. She shoved through the crowds, just in time to see Ellana hurling herself over the balcony behind Celene. She reached the head of the room. Celene’s body remained there, lifeless, a pool of blood spreading across the ornate marble floor. 

She almost stopped, to help, to do _something_ , but the Inquisitor needed protection, and that’s what mattered. 

===

Empress Celene was dead. After Ellana defeated Florianne in the courtyard, both her body and Celene’s were removed from the ballroom. The floor was wiped down by meticulous servants, like nothing had ever happened. 

Gaspard emerged with Ellana after some tense negotiations, Briala in tow. Katria had a feeling that Ellana had given Briala the leverage she needed to be the real power behind the Orlesian throne. Seeing those elven servants in the palace had upset her, as it should have. 

Katria tried not to be upset about her decision. Yes, she disapproved, but Ellana was a champion for equality. She was committed to the fair treatment of elves, the liberation of the Circles—all good things. Katria just wished there could have been another way to achieve those ends. 

She was disgusted that the party continued. That somehow assassination and violence were normal occurrences during these events and not horrifying. She retreated to a balcony with a glass of brandy filled to the rim. 

Ellana was on the next balcony—not too close, but Katria could still see the small frown on her face as she conversed with Morrigan. Katria didn’t blame her. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Katria turned, saw Cullen standing awkwardly behind her with his hands behind his back. His uniform was cut very precisely to his warrior’s frame. She preferred him naked, but his current outfit was probably a close second. She hoped she got to peel him out of it later. 

“In the fight,” he said, when she gave him an odd look. “Did Florianne injure you?” 

“Not badly,” she replied. Florianne had nicked her lower arm with an arrow, but that was all. Dorian had wrapped a bandage around it and declared her healed. 

Katria crossed her arms. Her chest deflated as she exhaled. 

Cullen stood beside her. “You’re still upset about Celene.” 

“I—understand the rationale behind Ellana’s decision,” Katria said. “I just hate it had to come to that.” 

“It’s not your decision to make,” Cullen replied. 

“I know that,” she ground out. Her eyes slid sideways back to Ellana, except she was with Solas now, leaning into him. She balked at the hideous hat he was wearing. 

Katria twisted so her back was to them. They probably wanted their privacy—to dance or kiss or swoon. Whatever ridiculous things romantic couples did. 

“The important thing is that Orlais is now allied with the Inquisition,” Cullen said. “We have the chevaliers on our side, more coin. This will help us defeat Corypheus.” 

“It’s a victory, certainly,” she admitted. They stood in silence for a few moments while she sipped her drink. “You end up dancing with any woman? Finding your mysterious princess?” 

“What do you think?” he deadpanned. 

Katria put her hand to her chest in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me my dancing lessons went to waste?” 

“They did,” he said. “Utterly pointless of us to do.” 

“Well now you know how,” she replied. “So the next banquet you attend, you’ll be prepared.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. It was disheveled from the events of the evening. “This was a miserable night. I can’t imagine repeating it.” 

She recalled all the attention he got, how frightened he’d looked by it. “I’m sorry that…you had to deal with all those admirers.” 

He rubbed his neck. “It caught me off guard. I don’t normally get that much attention and it just…” His head dropped. “Never mind.” 

Someone joined them on the balcony, their boots clicking against the floor. It was one of Cullen’s men. 

“Commander,” he said, report in hand. 

“I’ll be there in a moment,” Cullen replied as he straightened. The messenger disappeared back into the ballroom, while Cullen cleared his throat. 

“I…apologize for holding you back,” he said. “I was only doing my job. I want you to know that.” 

She waved her hand dismissively, though maybe part of her _was_ still upset over what he'd allowed to happen. Not that it mattered because she already was not fond of him. Or at least she told herself that.

“I get it.” 

“Good,” he replied with a nod. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

Katria took a step to grab his sleeve, standing close to him. “Will you be busy later?” she asked. Angry or not, she wanted him--wanted some reason for the evening not to be _totally_ horrible. 

His brow rose. “Uh—no. I…” He lowered his head slightly, voice a whisper. “Please come by.” 

She smiled at him. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I think we have to assume that these two dorks, Katria especially, are not at the level of romance to dance at the Winter Palace. But the good news is, I should have the next chapter out by tomorrow! Thank ya'll for all your support and comments and everything!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW!

Their withdrawal from the Winter Palace was a protracted affair. Katria and Leliana worked with the spies that were spread around the castle until all Florianne’s operatives had been found and all their casualties accounted for. 

They were guests at the estate of Josephine’s family friend. Once they arrived there, Katria went straight to bathe—she wanted the blood out from under her fingernails, the dirt out of her hair, anything to forget about what had happened. 

She had made a point of finding out where Cullen’s room was, though denied she was genuinely excited about seeing him. They had been together a few more times since her dance lessons. In her bed once—or maybe twice. In his loft. Once even in his tent while they traveled to Orlais. All perfectly nice times not worth thinking about, except that they felt good, unlike everything else in her life. 

It was almost midnight before she decided to traverse the hallway to him. The area was quiet and dark except for some sporadic torches—a good thing because Katria did not anyone to see her walking in and out of Cullen’s bedroom.

She knocked on his door, then immediately opened it. Cullen twisted around at the end of his bed, always vigilant, but his shoulders softened when he saw her. His coat was unclasped all the way down, showing an expanse of his chest that made her stomach flip. 

“I…didn’t know if you’d come,” he remarked. 

“I probably will in a few minutes,” she quipped, and then stepped over his boots to sit down beside him on the bed. 

Cullen scoffed and shook his head. “Maker, you’re crass.” 

“I have been holding in my snide comments all evening,” Katria replied. “Now I’m finally free of the Orlesians.” 

“I am glad for that also,” Cullen muttered. 

“I know it was hard for you,” she said, then stood long enough to turn and straddle his lap. She wrapped her hands around either side of his coat and pulled it off. “The good news is you can rest assured that I don’t like you enough to fawn over you like they did.” 

“Should I thank you for that?” he asked with a quirked brow. 

“I think so,” she replied before she kissed him, leaning in closer with her hands around his neck. They drifted lower, one along the curve of his shoulder blade and across his impressive musculature. She gave a small sigh—just the _idea_ of being encircled by his strong arms, his muscles flexing under her palms, made warmth spread through her stomach down to her toes. 

Cullen tugged at her coat, not roughly, just a slow and deliberate movement of his hands until she could wiggle her arms out of the sleeves and it fell to the ground. Both of his palms slid up her back into her hair that hung past her shoulders. 

Her knees separated further against the bed, opening her legs to grind her hips against him. Their kiss had been slow at first, until her lips sought his more desperately in between each jagged breath, pressing harder against him. 

Cullen was never very good at removing her breast band, so she did it herself, flinging it off somewhere, and he showed his gratitude with a groan, mouth finding a pebbled nipple while his other hand cupped her ass and held her to him. 

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, muffling the sound that burst from her. Despite his earlier compliments, her hair was a mess and fell over her shoulders, enveloping them both as she leaned into him. 

Katria wriggled in his lap, not satisfied with how little of her skin was pressed to his. Cullen unraveled her careful control so quickly. In minutes, her regulated movements and the forethought she’d honed into a habit disappeared, replaced with a singular desire to have more of him, to clumsily tear at his clothes until she got what she wanted. 

His lips traced a line up her chest, leaving gooseflesh in its wake until he reached her neck. 

“Katria,” he whispered hoarsely, making his stubble rasp across her skin. She yanked his head up by pulling on his hair, and her mouth crashed onto his because his voice made desire twist violently in her stomach. 

She squeezed her hand between them in an attempt to unlace her breeches before she realized she still had her boots on. Her feet flexed in the soles, but they were not coming off easily. 

“Maker’s balls,” she growled, breaking their kiss with a sharp jerk of her head. 

Cullen’s brow arched in. “Did I hurt you?” he asked immediately. 

“No,” she said, craning her neck around while she stayed in his lap. “These damn boots. I can’t…” She tugged on the end of one, but since they went past her knees, they wouldn’t budge as long as she was straddling him. 

Katria slid back and slumped onto the bed beside him. She tugged roughly on one with a frustrated sound. 

Cullen gave a small laugh. “Let me help you,” he said, as he knelt in front of her. 

“I can…” She swallowed the rest of her words, chest heaving. 

His movements were much more careful, and he guided each boot off her leg. 

“These are ridiculous,” she muttered. 

Cullen tossed the last one aside. He moved towards her, but she stood and stopped him, wiggling out of her breeches instead. Being patient wasn’t her strong suit when it came to these types of affairs. 

A sudden gust of cold whipped into the room, along her spine, and she yelped. Her arms circled her chest as she hunched over. 

“Why is the window open?” she asked exasperatedly. 

Cullen hurried over to pull the shudders closed. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t like…enclosed spaces, and I didn’t realize…” 

“Maker,” she muttered, rubbing her arms. “That’s one way to squash my sex drive.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said again with a sheepish blush. 

Katria rushed over to the bed and dove into it. She rolled onto her back, pulling the coverlet up to her chin as she peered at him. “You could say something flirtatious about warming me up.” 

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I mean—yes, I could. I _will_.” He strode over and slipped into the bed with her. He immediately covered her body with his—warmth spilled out of him, from his fingers, his breath across her face, and she hummed in appreciation as his mouth sealed over hers. It was a long kiss. Probably too long. She could feel his hardened cock even through his breeches; she was ready, too, maybe even desperate for him. But instead of doing anything, she stayed pinned under him, touching every part of his body she could reach and carding her fingers through his hair.

Cullen ground his hips against her; the friction made him groan into her mouth and kiss her more frantically. Despite the fact that he was terrible at flirting, Cullen _was_ very efficient at warming her up. She writhed under him, fingernails raking down his back all the way to the waist of his pants. 

He pressed his mouth to hers one final time before he stopped. To _look_ at her. There was a candle on the bedside table, casting light across his face the same color as his eyes. His hand moved to her cheek, finger caressing the line of her jaw, and it was _odd_. Maybe it was the most odd that she didn’t recoil from him. 

She thought of a joke, but it got lodged in her throat once Cullen leaned closer, pupils blown wide. His thumb dipped to her bottom lip to trace it. His voice was soft, unlike she’d really heard before. Not the hardened timbre of Commander Cullen, or the Knight-Captain, or the man who so frequently snapped at her. 

“You’re so b-,” 

“Pants,” she blurted out. 

He swallowed. “W-What?” 

Katria shifted under him. “Your pants,” she said. “Take them off.” 

Cullen lifted his chest up with his palms, staring down at her with a quizzical look before he rolled off. He propped his back against the bedframe and tugged down his breeches. They disappeared under the feathery coverlet. 

She sat up beside him, then slung her leg to his other side to sit across his lap. Her hips rolled against his, and he let out a strangled breath. The ornate Orlesian headboard creaked behind them. 

Katria’s hand slid behind his head, cradling his skull so she could kiss him. His hands found her waist and he flicked his tongue across her lip until her mouth opened. 

“Warm enough?” he murmured after a few moments. 

“You seem to have done your job,” she replied with a grin. 

Katria lifted herself up and braced her body with one hand against the headboard. She watched the muscles in his jaw clench once she settled herself over his cock. 

Cullen pulled her down hard onto him, and she twisted her free hand in his hair with a shallow exhale. Her name left his lips in a gasp at the same time, and his hips bucked up against her before she started to move. 

This felt measurably better than any other time she’d spent with him. Before, she had Cullen in his sharp, uncomfortable armor, and the fur on his coat that tickled her nose when he was on top of her. Now, he was laid bare, whoever this man was underneath all those layers and titles. He certainly wasn’t who she thought. 

Cullen’s torso was pressed against every inch of hers, his hands dragging down her back. His mouth ghosted across her neck and shoulder as she rode him with one hand still holding the headboard to pin them against it. He lifted his head at one point, and her long nose tickled part of his cheek. 

He turned and their lips met, which…technically violated one of her rules—kissing when it wasn’t necessary. But still her hand laid across his cheek, and she kissed him while she fucked him anyway. 

She didn’t even notice the next draft that seeped into the room, forcing the shudders to clack against the wall as they opened. She ground herself down roughly onto him, chasing the pleasure he brought with his cock, and maybe other parts of him too, because she liked more about him than she should. Her movements became more desperate, unconcerned by the fact that her knees were rubbed raw against the wood of the headboard. 

“Maker, _yes_ ,” she breathed. “Oh—C-Cullen.”

A hallow growl vibrated through his chest; she felt it against her skin as his lips placed warm, open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach on her body. “Katria,” he murmured back once he reached the line of her jaw. 

His hand drifted down between them, making room for him to run his thumb clumsily across her clit. She keened, air rushing out of her lungs, as her jaw dropped open. Every muscle in her body tensed, anticipating, drawing sweat across her temple as she rode him harder. 

Katria’s fingernails raked down the back of his neck. She said his name again, louder, just as she came with her face buried in his hair, squeezing him, breaking apart except for the feeling of him underneath her, their skin sliding together. 

His strong arms snaked around her completely to hold her still while he thrust up into her. He moaned, one leg spasming, and his teeth grazed her shoulder as he finished with a shudder. His grip eventually loosened as the rest of his body leaned more comfortably against the headboard.

Katria blinked away a bead of sweat that trickled down her forehead; her body fell slack against his, unspun. His fingertips tickled the sticky skin on her back as they trailed down to her hips. 

“That almost made the whole night worth it,” she murmured. 

Cullen was still panting. “Almost?” 

“I did have to put up with Orlesians all evening,” Katria pointed out, leaning back to look down at him.

He broke from her gaze. His breathing was slower, more deliberate, and his thumbs drew firmer circles in her hips. 

She furrowed her brow at his extended silence. “Cullen?” 

“Stay, then,” he said as he lifted his chin to meet her eyes. “I’ll make it worth it.” 

Stay. _Stay_. Katria rocked backwards, swallowing roughly. “Oh.” Her hands dropped from his neck, and she leaned further away. “I should…I should probably go. I mean, we’re tired. I-I’m…”

“Okay,” he said, apparently unperturbed by her rejection. “Do you want me to-,” 

Katria stumbled off the bed. Things had been marginally more messy than usual, and she wished she had time to wash off, except if she spent a single extra second in his room, she might have to acknowledge the part of her that was completely comfortable with staying with him. 

She found her breeches, coat, clumsily fastened it, and didn’t even bother to put on her boots. “I…” She pushed back the hair plastered onto her forehead. “Goodnight, Cullen.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Cullen was watching her, still sitting on the bed, but she didn’t want to think about the expression on his face. She didn’t care and it didn’t matter. 

Katria was flustered enough that she opened the door without checking for any passing servants or people. A figure in the hallway leaned back in surprise as it flew open. She hurriedly shut the door before they spoke. 

Dorian had stopped when he saw her, standing in the flickering torchlight with one eyebrow cocked. He hadn’t changed out of his formal attire. “Katria?”

She clenched her boots tighter to her chest. “Hi, Dorian,” she said. “Also goodbye.” 

Katria spun on her heel and began quickly retreating to her room. She did not make it far. Dorian’s footsteps followed her at a fast clip. 

“What were you doing?” he asked, then he glanced back at the door as his eyes widened. “In _Cullen’s_ room?” 

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Ah—really nothing. We were…there was…” 

Dorian jumped in front of her with a gasp. “You were having sex with him!” 

“No!” Katria exclaimed. “How could you—what a _ridiculous_ thing to assume. Don’t be—that’s _absurd_.” 

He began laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach. “This…this is _rich_. You and _Cullen_. How did you manage-,” 

“I’m not sleeping with him!” Katria insisted exasperatedly. 

Dorian straightened with a scoff. “Katria, my dear, when you leave a man’s room past midnight not wearing your boots, buttons on your jacket all crooked, hair matted-,” He gestured down her body. “You’re not fooling anyone. Plus, look at your neck, its bright red.” 

Katria hastily tried to pull her hair over her shoulder to cover up whatever mark Cullen had made. “I—fine,” she said irritably. “Perhaps we have made an arrangement of sorts. But we’re _not_ friends and I don’t like him.” 

“Oh, you’re not friends?” Dorian began, arms crossed. “Despite the fact that I’ve seen you talk civilly on multiple occasions, and the poor man stares at your hair or your breasts whenever-,” 

“Not friends,” she ground out, maneuvering around him.

“You know how these things work,” Dorian insisted as he followed her. “You can’t separate the sex from the feelings. It always ends badly.” 

“There are _no_ feelings,” Katria snapped. “That’s why I’m with Cullen in the first place. I will _never_ like him. He’ll always be a Templar, and he’ll have always ruined everything.” 

“You say that, but-,” 

“I know it.” Katria reached the door to her room, then twisted around. “You won’t tell anyone about this, will you?” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Oh please, there are already rumors.” 

“Maker,” she muttered, fist clenched in frustration. This was not supposed to be _complicated_. She could feel on the fringes how it was transforming—how the simple and fast pace of their relationship was slowing, being steeped in meaningful _crap_ , and now Cullen complimented her and apologized and it was all bad news. 

“You could do worse than Cullen,” Dorian remarked with a shrug. 

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know him like I do.” 

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you should,” he countered. “Emotionally.” He smirked. “I’m sure you’re _well_ acquainted with his physical attributes.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise and put her hand on her doorknob. “Goodnight, Dorian.” 

“Goodnight, my dear,” he said. “I’m so looking forward to watching your torrid romance with our Commander unfold.” 

She slammed the door in his face. She also slammed the door on the tangled jumble of emotions Cullen had caused to spring up in her head. She would end things, if she had to, because feelings for _him_ simply could not exist in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll have been enjoying the story so far!


	18. Chapter 18

They left for Crestwood from the Winter Palace. Ellana, Katria, Solas and Cassandra. Cass proved to be her preferred companion as they traveled because Ellana was quite absorbed in her apostate lover. Which was fine. Ellana found so little happiness in her life due to all the stress she shouldered as Inquisitor and all the impossible decisions she had to make. If Solas made her happy, then they should be together, and Katria should not burden them further about it. Unless Solas hurt Ellana, of course.

Katria was glad for the rapid turnaround in their travel—it would give her some needed space from Cullen. Desperately needed space. She needed to reiterate their…their _terms_. He was not supposed to be apologetic or kind or make her stomach flip the way it did.

It’s not like these things hadn’t happened before with other men. Other Templars. There was always a start to those feelings, maybe if it was only friendship. It was just a matter of utterly squashing them when they appeared, grinding the impulses into dust because they didn’t mean _anything_. 

Crestwood was eventful enough to distract her from her concerns. Hawke’s Warden friend proved to have some valuable and upsetting information about Corypheus. As if that wasn’t enough, they fought a dragon. Not exactly something Katria ever looked _forward_ to doing, but now it was merely another story to tell in the tavern. 

Back in Skyhold, Cullen sought out her company a few days after she returned. A messenger came to her while she was in the courtyard, supervising some of her agents.

She received a small piece of parchment, sealed with wax. Cullen’s handwriting was neat, but blocky. The note only said: _are you busy?_

That was their language, of course. He asked if she was busy as some euphemism for her coming to see him. After telling the messenger she would respond to Cullen personally, she crumpled up the note and stuffed it into her pocket. Impolite to do. Cold, even, but that is what was necessary to ensure their agreement did not escalate. 

It’s not like she planned to completely ignore him. She didn’t. She was confident things could be salvaged, pending a discussion about the boundaries of their relationship. Yet Katria so desperately hated discussions that penetrated any depth of feeling, even if her only plan was to remind him that things were to remain casual between them. 

Later, in the Herald’s Rest, she stayed sulking at the bar mostly because she didn’t want to talk to anyone and also because Cabot wouldn’t give her any expensive liquor unless she was very nice to him. He had just refilled her tumbler when the stool beside her creaked. 

Katria glanced over and saw Ellana’s slender arms leaning onto the counter. 

“Inquisitor,” Katria said, tipping her glass slightly. 

Ellana let out a heavy sigh. “I need a drink.” She reached for Katria’s glass to take a sip. The amber liquid hardly touched her lips before she slammed it against the bar, sputtering. 

“That’s disgusting,” she said.

Katria smirked, reclaiming the glass and draining it. “In your opinion.”

Cabot slid a tankard of honeyed mead in front of Ellana and she eagerly grabbed it. “This is better.” 

“What’s troubling you?” Katria asked. 

Ellana wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Everything. There’s…more pressure than ever on me, and nothing seems to be going right.” 

She furrowed her brow. “Did something happen with you and Solas?” 

Ellana grinned and shook her head. “We’re doing fine. You shouldn’t assume that when I’m upset it has to do with him.” 

“Alright, alright,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “What is it, then?” 

“Josephine received a letter from the Keeper of my clan,” Ellana explained. “They’ve settled in Orlais and bandits have begun attacking them. I—it’s worrying.” 

Katria turned in her stool. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” 

Ellana’s head bowed slightly, her red hair crowning her cheeks. “I hope so. I just…can’t help but think that it’s my fault this is happening. What if they’re being attacked because people think I’m the Herald of Andraste? Or because of what happened at the Winter Palace?” 

She put her hand on her shoulder. “You do far too much good in the world to be concerned that you have enemies. You can’t control everything.” 

“I want them to be safe,” she replied. 

“They will be,” Katria assured her, though she was very unfamiliar with this strong familial tie Ellana had to her clan and her culture. Katria had long ago surrendered those things. 

Ellana tapped her fingernails against her tankard. “I wanted to discuss something else. It’s about Cullen.” 

Katria dropped her hand and turned towards the bar. “Cullen?” she began, trying so hard to be nonchalant she felt like an idiot. 

“I…was hoping you could talk to him,” Ellana said tentatively. “He’s been struggling, a-and I feel very unequipped to help him.” 

“Why would you come to _me_?” Katria asked. “Why not Cassandra? You know Cullen and I know don’t get along.” 

Ellana shrugged. “He’s already talked to Cass, and Dorian told me-,” 

Katria groaned loudly enough that Ellana stopped. 

“What?” she said. 

Katria ran her hand through her hair. “Nothing. Just—tell me exactly what Dorian said.” 

“He only mentioned that you two had become much more civil,” Ellana replied. “That you were friends, even.” 

“Oh.” She was glad Dorian was not too eager to meddle after all. She sharply shook her head. “Well, he’s wrong. Cullen and I are not friends. I can assure you.” 

“I asked because you have _some_ experience with other Templars,” Ellana said. “And I can see that you don’t like most of them, but you at least understand them and maybe tolerate Cullen enough to…” 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear. “Is this about lyrium? That he’s not taking it?” 

She leaned forward. “He told you?” 

“I can tell,” she said. “Is he alright?” 

Ellana bit her lip, eyes flickering across the room before she spoke. “I don’t think so. That’s why I was hoping you might provide some additional help to him. Maybe more than I can offer.” 

“I…” Katria trailed off, grunting, because while she had planned to have a discussion with Cullen soon, it was not under the auspices of helping him. She shouldn’t want to help him. She should want him to suffer, even. 

“Ellana, I’m sorry, but I am not the best person for that job,” she said. “I know we haven’t talked much about my previous…activities in Kirkwall, but I can assure you Cullen will not find comfort in what I might say. Cassandra is better suited to help him. Varric, perhaps. Because of what he went through with his brother.”

Ellana nodded. “Oh. Okay. If you think so.” Her eyes trailed down, lips puckered, in a silent expression she’d seen so often. _Disappointment_. Katria hadn’t felt it in quite a long time because she’d given up having hope about pretty much anything. But Ellana, Clara, they always harbored it. And then Katria failed them, and they were disappointed. 

Katria pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She needed to stop conflating the two of them. They were not the same, and it only made her miss Clara more. 

“Maker, I’ll _try_ ,” she finally said. “With Cullen.” 

Ellana broke into a brilliant smile and leaned into her, their shoulders rubbing. “I _knew_ I could convince you!”

Katria just made a disgusted noise and tried to find solace in her drink. 

Ellana sat with her a little longer—she was not the kind of person to sit still, and she liked solitude less than Katria did, so soon she was across the tavern laughing with Bull and Varric about something. 

Katria waited a week to interact with Cullen. He did not seem perturbed by it, though she didn’t even see much of him from afar. He was being more reclusive than usual: spending extra time in his office, staying up later and later each night. She did not know if something was wrong, and she did not care. 

Katria kept watching from the courtyard to see if Cullen would emerge from his office. He did not, so by the middle of the afternoon, she ventured there. Whether to check on him or talk about their relationship, she did not know. 

She opened the door with a breezy smile. Cullen was at his desk, leaning over it with palms flat; he didn’t even lift his head. 

“Are you busy?” she asked. 

He hardly moved. “Go away.” 

Katria paused a few feet from his desk. “Something’s put you in a particularly bad mood today.” 

He finally met her gaze, eyes bloodshot, fatigue evident in the set of his jaw and the dense stubble there. “Go _away_ ,” he growled.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to move, but a small groan left him when he straightened from the desk. “I _will_ be fine.” 

She shifted her weight between her feet, contemplating leaving, knowing she should. Cullen’s lyrium box was trapped between his palms, open wide. Bottles of it were scattered around his desk. 

“You won’t…take any, will you?” 

Cullen cocked his head, lip rising slightly in a scowl. “Ellana told you?” 

“Told me what?” Katria asked. “That you aren’t taking lyrium? You don’t think I already knew?” 

He pushed himself off the desk. “How?” 

She crossed her arms. “I—I know what lyrium withdrawal looks like.” 

Katria had seen it far more times than she was comfortable with. The tremors. Nightmares. The way sweat collected on their palms and along their temples. She’d watched it drive good men to utter madness. 

“Right,” he muttered. Then his lips tightened. “The men you knew, who stopped, what happened to them?” 

She exhaled slowly. “Are you asking me if I know anyone that survived?” 

“Maybe.” 

Katria shook her head, took a step forward. “Some lasted a few months, then they…cracked. Gave up. Spent their money on lyrium dust because they couldn’t let go.” Her fists clenched before she flexed her fingers. “Never saw anyone die, though I heard about it.” 

“It’s impossible,” he said, voice thick. “I-It’s…I can’t…” 

Katria watched as he slumped over again with a wince. “You spoke to Ellana, didn’t you?” she began. “What did she say?” 

He swallowed roughly. “I told her and Cassandra to relieve me of my duties,” he said. “I told them I couldn’t endure.” His fist slammed into his desk, rattling the bottles and parchment scattered there. “I promised Ellana I could, but it’s not fucking _possible_!”

“Cullen-,” 

“No,” he cut in angrily, teeth bared to her. “You— _you_ don’t get to say anything!” 

“I don’t have to,” she replied. “You _know_ you shouldn’t give up.”

“It’s not that easy!” he snapped. 

Katria raised a hand to him. “I see that, but-,” 

“I need it,” he growled. “You don’t understand—you can’t _imagine_ …” His hands rose to his hair, carding it between his fingers and destroying its careful construction. He turned to her, lips bloodless, circles under his eyes. 

“Why are you even here?” he demanded angrily. “You don’t give a single fuck about me. About any Templar.” 

Katria frowned. “I don’t,” she said. Because she _didn’t_. She did not care for him or his addiction; she had sex with him because he was handsome and they weren’t _friends_. He could take the lyrium if he wanted.

“Just get out,” he snapped, leaning against his desk. His face was screwed in an expression of pain she knew too well. 

She glared at him, then spun on her heel. Just before the door shut, she heard him fumbling through his lyrium box. The clink of glass. _Why_ did he keep that damned thing around if he was trying to stop? 

The air outside was cold, wind whipping across the battlements. She made it a few feet and then wrapped her coat tighter around her. 

She kept thinking about Cullen, the other Templars she knew—the ones destitute on the streets, _wasting_ away because of their addiction. A burden the Chantry placed on their shoulders with so little thought. She did not know a single Templar who had successfully quit lyrium. Maybe there had never been any hope for Cullen.

Katria stopped, her gaze trailing down to the stone under her feet. If Cullen succeeded, truly succeeded, he could help other Templars, couldn’t he? The ones she’d condemned because of her anger? Ones who did not deserve to be siphoned off from the Order, or who wanted a different life like he did? Could that justify her helping him?

“Maker’s balls,” she growled, then turned back for his office. 

She burst through the door, startling Cullen at his desk. He had a vial in his hand. 

“Give that to me,” she ordered, marching towards him. 

He was caught off guard, and Katria pried the vial from his hands, the blue liquid sloshing but not spilling over onto her hand. She resealed it, then frantically began gathering the other philters. 

“What are you—stop it,” he ordered. His hands shot out to her; he was rough and decisive, though trembling. “Stop it!” 

Katria had the box in her hands and wrenched from his grasp. She staggered back. 

“Cullen, you can’t.” 

His voice rose. “Give it back. You are not my _friend_. You are not in _charge_. You have _no right_ to decide what you think is best for me. I want to serve!” 

“This stuff will destroy you,” Katria insisted. “And you have come so far. Just-,” 

He lurched towards her, and she rounded his desk. Standing between this man and his lyrium was probably not safe, though a small part of her begrudgingly admitted that Cullen would never hurt her. 

“I don’t want you here,” he growled. “I don’t want you trying to _help_.” 

“You think I want this?” she demanded. “Maker’s balls, once I would have loved to see you suffer, but this lyrium…” Her knuckles were white as she gripped the box. “Cullen, if you give up now, when you have this support, you’ll be stuck for the rest of your _life_. And you and I both know that’s not something you want.”

“This can’t be about me anymore,” Cullen said. “I swore myself to the Inquisition, a-and…and this withdrawal is interfering…” He held out his hand. “Give me the box.” 

Katria sighed. “Okay, Cullen.” 

He looked less tense then, shoulders slumping, but he froze when Katria turned for the door. 

“What are you doing?” he began urgently. 

His footsteps clamored after her, heavy against the floor as she headed out onto the battlements. 

“ _Katria_ ,” he said, then made a strangled noise when she flipped open the lid of the box and hurled its contents over the castle wall. 

“Hey!” 

Cullen grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip, spinning her roughly to face him. The force pushed the box from her hand and it crashed to the ground beside them. She instinctively pulled away, but her back was pressed against the wall. 

He looked furious, seething with rage—his brow was furrowed deeply, mouth screwed up in disgust. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

Her hand flew up to his breastplate to keep him from coming any closer. She swallowed, fear shooting through her, and Cullen must have seen it in her eyes because his face softened, not with affection but with despair. 

Cullen hung his head, his voice heavy. “I can’t _endure_. I told her I could but…” 

She _hated_ herself because she felt sympathy for him. Her hand moved higher along his armor, fingertips just brushing the flushed skin on his neck. “You can.” 

“No,” he growled. “No, you say that, but it’s not _enough_. It’s not…” He withdrew from her with a weary look. “I don’t want this—not with _you_.” 

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t either, Cullen, but you have to talk to-,” 

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he said sharply. “I’m tired of listening to people tell me that I can do this when they don’t _understand_.” 

Katria watched him retreat further, like she would do. So afraid to be vulnerable and so ashamed. Cullen had pushed himself from his family. He might do it to his friends eventually. She had neither. 

“Don’t take the lyrium, Cullen,” she said softly. 

“You don’t care,” he spat back. 

“I don’t.” 

Cullen scoffed, turned on his heel, pushing the door to his office open. Katria picked up the discarded box and followed him. Probably against her better judgment. 

“Do you have more?” she asked. “In your desk?” 

“I told you to go away!” he snarled. 

“Maker, trust me, this is the _last_ thing I want to-,” 

“Then leave!” Cullen said, jerking towards her, but the rapid movement disarmed him, and he staggered sideways slightly with the heel of his palm against his forehead. 

His eyes then narrowed—they were glassy, glinting with anger, something worse. 

“Y-You—you did this to men on _purpose_ ,” he hissed. “What I feel now is what you caused for fun. You forced men out of the Order and off lyrium.” 

Katria stepped back slightly. “I-,” 

“Do you know how much pain I’m in?” he demanded, voice rising. “What kind of _monster_ would subject someone to this? How could you be so cruel?”

“I-I know,” she stammered. Her lungs emptied in a shaky exhale; the guilt was crushing every part of her, so paralyzing and cold. 

His skin was sallow, not reddened despite how angry he was. “You are the _last_ person I want to see right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered weakly, then squeezed her eyes shut. “Just please don’t-,” 

“Get out!” Cullen shouted, though his voice gave out and cracked. 

His anger rattled her, caused her throat to tighten. Katria stumbled back through the door and slammed it shut hard behind her. A small sob got trapped in her throat as she clenched her jaw, sending hot air sharply through her nose. 

She hated how right he’d been. How perfectly justified he was even as he regarded her with disgust. His pain was visceral, never-ending—he was experiencing the agony other men had felt because of her. This is what she’d done, and now he understood better than ever the consequences of her actions. The suffering from his withdrawal shortened his fuse to nothing; he’d erupted because his temper was frayed, and the pain ate all the patience he had. 

Katria fell against the door with one hand covering her face. She wanted to cry about the guilt, but where would that get her? Nowhere productive. It’s not as if she and Cullen hadn’t had these fights before; it’s not as if he didn’t hate her already. Perhaps this would remind him that this civility they had was merely an illusion. 

And yet, a small voice in her head told her that if she really didn’t care about him, she would have left the first time he asked. 

===

Cullen woke up at dawn, still dressed in his armor, cold sweat covering most of his body. He groaned and rolled over, the mattress creaking under his increased weight. 

The tremors had stopped, but the headache was still there. The one that had been pounding right between his eyes for _hours_. Unrelenting. There was no ebb and flow, only pain. 

He wanted the lyrium so badly—it was within his reach, right in the box, and whatever he was doing to try and stop wasn’t working. The encouragement they gave him wasn’t enough. The craving had gotten so bad, he’d fled to his bedroom and stayed curled in on himself hoping to sleep.

He looked up through the hole in his ceiling; the sky was gold and pink, chasing away the darkness even though he didn’t really want it to be a new day. 

Katria had cried when he yelled at her. Well, as much as she could cry. The tears had welled up in her eyes, then she’d run away. The guilt did not come until later. He had not forgotten what she’d done to other Templars even when he had almost called her beautiful at the Winter Palace. He’d buried those unpleasant thoughts in the back of his mind—or maybe they existed together in the same place. 

He did not understand how he could be so angry with someone and yet still be so drawn to them. She was all those things he’d thought at Halamshiral: beautiful and funny and charming and being friends with her didn’t seem like a bad idea. Then he was faced with so much pain in the past few weeks while she was in Crestwood, knowing that she’d done this to other Templars for some reason he still didn’t understand. It made anger rise up like bile in his throat, and he snapped. 

She deserved an apology. She deserved to be complimented and listened to because he’d caused _just_ as much pain to mages himself in different ways and wanted absolution for it. Though the last time he’d tried to apologize, it hadn’t gone too well. 

Things were different now. Whatever was going on between them, they were probably friends. She had enjoyed their time together in Orlais just as much as he did, he was sure of it. The way she kissed him and moaned his name while she rode him—so much _better_ than any time before but also more intimate. It needed to be discussed and she deserved an apology. Maybe he even wanted to learn more about her and understand why she harbored such hatred for Templars in the first place.

Cullen dragged himself out of his bed; he had a terrible taste in his mouth and hunger raging in his gut because he hadn’t eaten at all yesterday. 

As if sent by the Maker himself, a tray of food and tea was delivered by a servant. Cullen tried to ask who had it sent—the young woman only evasively replied that she was told by a very important person to bring it by every day from now on. Ellana, probably. 

The Inquisitor continued to fret over him after their conversation a few weeks ago. She’d gotten back from Crestwood, and he had immediately burdened her with his problems. He felt guilty about it, but she was as compassionate as ever. 

Cullen ate and had some tea, then traversed the battlements in the early morning light. He looked down into the courtyard, expecting to see Katria there, wavy hair flying in the cold breeze, that ratty jacket Josephine complained about so much wrapped around her. Except that she wasn’t there. It was only some of her agents. 

He jogged down to them and found who he recognized as her second in command. 

“Where is Scout Trevelyan?” he asked. 

The young man gestured back to the portcullis. “Left for Val Royeaux this morning. She didn’t tell us until late last night, but apparently Lady Josephine needed something delivered, and she volunteered.” 

Cullen frowned, then after thanking the agent, turned back for the battlements. Was Katria’s departure an indication that she was upset? How long would she try to stay away? 

He let out a heavy sigh. Things had become so complicated he’d be lucky if she spoke to him ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things understandably (hopefully) went to hell, but I just wanted to thank y'all for all your comments! They are seriously the best and just make me so ridiculously happy, so thank you! It makes my productivity go through the roof as I squeal with excitement. :P


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!

Val Royeaux was a poor choice of retreat for Katria. Filled with gross excess and nobles and everything she hated. Still, at least it wasn’t Skyhold. 

Josephine had needed correspondence delivered to some woman, and Katria had scrambled at the chance to leave, knowing that any second Cullen would come to her with all this remorse about his actions that she didn’t want to deal with. The letter Katria delivered was all part of Josephine’s plan to keep the House of Repose from killing her. Katria had volunteered herself to infiltrate their ranks and destroy the contract, but Ellana and Josie had elected to take the peaceful, and longer, approach. 

Unfortunately, Katria’s reprieve from the Inquisition’s headquarters did not last long. A raven soon arrived for her from Ellana. Hawke and Stroud both pointed to the Western Approach as being involved in the next step of Corypheus’ plan with the Wardens, and they were to travel there to uncover more information. Katria was dismayed to have to return to Skyhold, and also about having to return to the damn desert. 

As she rode back, she decided there were only two things that would happen between her and Cullen. First, she’d try to ignore him, and if that didn’t work, she’d end things. Done and over. She did not need him, nor did she want him. He could not play by her rules, so they would not be involved at all. Plenty of men wandered around Skyhold whom she could replace him with. Hawke had especially nice arms for a mage. 

In five days she was back in Skyhold. She entered under the blanket of night and returned to her room after bathing. Cullen found her in a few hours because of course he was awake and of course he was earnest to apologize. 

The knock was three succinct raps. Katria stood from her desk and opened the door. 

He looked better. Less tired. He’d shaved and damn that handsome line of his jaw. 

“What?” she said irritably. 

“I was terrible to you,” he replied. “Let me-,” 

Katria slammed the door in his face. She turned back to her bed, yet only made it a few steps because Cullen opened the door and followed her in. He was not wearing his armor, and his tunic was open more than it should have been for her to maintain a decent level of concentration. 

“Just let me apologize,” he said quickly. 

She spun around, scowling. “I don’t want your fucking apology, Cullen!” 

He raised one hand. “I know—I know there is no excuse for my actions, but you should-,” 

“That’s not it!” she snapped, making a frustrated sound. “You were _right_. I am a monster, and the pain you felt is exactly what I caused in other men. I don’t want your apology because it shouldn’t _matter_ to you how I feel.” 

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“We had an agreement!” she exclaimed. “And part of that agreement was _not_ you coming here trying to be _sorry_.” 

He ran his hand through his hair. “What are you saying?” 

Katria strode over to him, staring up into his eyes. “I don’t care about you or your feelings or your apology,” she said. “The only thing I care about is you fucking me, then _leaving_!” 

“Maker, you’re obtuse,” he growled. “Things can’t be… _partitioned_ that way!” 

“They can!” she insisted. “I’ve done it before, and you’ve ruined it with your sentiment.” 

Cullen snorted. “I’m sorry that I’ve committed myself to being a good person. I offer apologies to people when I wrong them. Even if they don’t deserve it.” 

“Congratulations, _Knight-Captain_ ,” she sneered. “Why don’t you take your apology and your superior attitude and find some nicer girl to fuck and end up with because I’m not that person!”

“Stop lashing out like a child,” he said, stepping closer. “Stop overcompensating because you’re afraid that we might be…be friends!”

“We’re not,” she spat. “You made that plainly clear last week.” 

Cullen grabbed her arms. “And I’m _sorry_. The withdrawal—it tries my temper, but that’s no excuse, I know. You are not a monster and neither am I.” 

Oh, Maker. Her heart clenched from the _comfort_ his words provided, and she wrenched away. “I don’t want this,” she muttered, face turned from him. 

He exhaled. “You are…very hard to understand, Katria.” 

“Trevelyan,” she said. “You’re supposed to call me _Trevelyan_.” 

“I thought you hated nobility. That name specifically.” 

“Well—yes, but…” Katria pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. She didn’t know what she wanted to be called because she didn’t even know who she _was_. Not a Trevelyan, certainly. 

Cullen crossed his arms. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I told you already,” she said. “You and I have sex, then you leave, and you don’t compliment me and we aren’t friends and no one _else_ finds out about this!” 

“That’s all?” he asked. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Katria replied emphatically, meeting his gaze for a single moment before she looked away again. “I mean, how could you possibly want more? With _me_? I’m…not…” 

“I don’t,” he said. “Or I…” He hesitated, then repeated himself. “I don’t.” 

She shifted. “Good.”

They stood in silence together until he leaned closer to her, hesitant, but his fingers caressed the free strands of her hair and it made her clench her fist because she wanted to throw herself into his chest. “What now?” 

“I’m still-,” Katria waved her hand impatiently. “ _Mad_ at you.” 

“I thought the point of this was that you’re _always_ mad at me.” 

She gave a huff of a laugh.

Cullen took a breath, for courage apparently, and then put his hand on her waist, rotating her so he could press them together, his chest firm against hers. 

“I still want you,” he murmured. “Maker, I think about it more than…” 

The back of Katria’s knees were against the bed. She looked up at him as he buried his hand in her hair. “You want parts of me, you mean,” she said softly. 

Cullen planted a hard kiss on her mouth. She stiffened at first, and he gave her no time to respond because his lips lifted from hers, then dragged across her jaw to a spot under her ear, sucking hard and lighting her skin on fire right to her core. 

“Oh,” Katria breathed. “ _Oh_ -,” She molded her body to his, fingers scrabbling against the fabric of his tunic. Her hand slid down his stomach, and then the heel of her palm pressed firmly along the length of his cock. The sound he made was muffled against her neck. 

Cullen grazed her skin with his teeth, surely leaving a mark and Dorian would find it later, but she let him do it anyway. 

This was not either of the options she’d outlined for herself: ignoring him or severing their ties. Of course, when she formulated those ideas, she was probably not giving enough credit to how deeply attracted she was to him. How when she saw his lips she wanted to kiss them and wrap herself all the way around him. If he promised to keep things impersonal, perhaps it could be allowed to stand. 

Cullen tore open the laces of her breeches and shoved them a few inches down her hips, giving him more room to slid his hand inside and stroke her. She leaned into him and buried her face in the flushed skin of his neck. 

He eventually lifted his mouth to her ear. “Is this what you want?” he whispered hoarsely. 

Katria swallowed and nodded. “Y-Yes—ah, _please_.”

She writhed against him, unhappy about his restricted range of motion. Her hands twisted into the front of his tunic and pulled them backwards towards the bed. She sat and pulled her pants all the way off. He was doing the same work with his breeches, and she lifted up the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. 

Her fingernails dragged down his bare chest, muscles flexing underneath and she groaned softly before he pulled her hair to kiss her, his other hand cupping her arse. His cock throbbed between them against his stomach, and that was really all the motivation she needed.

Katria broke from his kiss, panting, before dragging him onto the bed. He crawled over her and she rolled onto her stomach, arching her hips up off the coverlet and rubbing her bottom against him.

He was a little slow; he did not lift his torso or position himself to thrust inside of her from behind. His mouth pressed into her shoulder, then he kissed her down her spine, his jagged breath hot against her skin. 

She lifted herself a little higher on her knees with a low whine. 

" _Please_ -,"

His fingers skimmed the curve of her waist and her hips before he gave her what she wanted. He groaned when he pushed inside her, fingernails leaving crests in her hips.

Katria’s fingers scraped the wood headboard for some sort of purchase as she encouraged him. His thrusts forced her face down into the mattress, her hair a dark, tangled mess over her shoulders. 

She shifted, pulling her chest up and then reaching with one hand between her legs, sighing as she touched herself, and Cullen made a strangled sound as his fingers dug sharper into her flesh. 

Clear thoughts left her quickly—she was suddenly all hunger, _need_ , just for him. He moved his hands so they were flat against the bed on either side of her, curled a little more over her back as he braced himself to fuck her as hard as he could. 

Katria clenched her hands hard into the sheets. Each of his thrusts rippled through her, and she wanted so badly to call out his name. To scream it. Instead, she gave a long, broken moan of higher and higher pitch until her mouth dropped further open and she came, shoving backwards hard and rutting against him. 

Cullen drove once, twice, then a third rough and clumsy time as he finished, his elbows bending slightly. He did not move for a few moments, and she felt very much surrounded by him, his heavy breathing all she could hear over her own.

Katria’s knees slid out from under her until she flopped against the mattress with a content sigh. He followed her, his body slick against hers, chest heaving.

He eventually rolled to his back. 

“I’m…” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I’m still sorry.” 

She turned her head to look at him, her cheek flush against the sheets. “I swear I will hit you, Cullen,” she said. “Again.” 

His lip ticked up in a small smile, mouth slightly open as he continued to drink in air. 

Katria lifted herself onto her elbows. “I’m serious. You must promise me that…” She pushed her matted hair back. “Promise you’ll stick to what we agreed to.” 

Cullen’s eyes slid over to her. The skin on his chest looked warm in the candlelight by her bed. “I promise,” he said eventually. 

She twisted to her back and then sat up. “Good to hear.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Put your clothes on and get out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered and with a concerted effort lifted himself from the bed.

Katria tried to pull her fingers through the tangles in her hair while he slipped back into his clothes. Her eyes stayed glued to the ground as she spoke. 

“You’re still off the lyrium, right?” 

Cullen pushed up his sleeves and raised his brow slightly. “I am.” 

“Well…good,” she said gruffly. She tugged her tunic further down her bare legs. “Now would you get out of here before someone sees? I need to pack anyway.” 

Cullen soothed back his hair. “Goodnight,” he said. “I will…see you later.” 

He shut the door softly as he left, and Katria flopped back onto the bed with her face buried in a pillow. How could her self-control be so weak around him? His calloused hands reached for her, and she fell apart against him, even though he’d done _everything_ she'd told him not to. Cullen was supposed to be all things that she despised, and yet she didn’t hate him. 

In her mind, that was not a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, so this one got polished quickly! 
> 
> PS:each and every one of you are absolutely amazing and I am so grateful for all the comments and support, and it makes me all emotional thinking about how awesome ya'll are. *wipes tear* thank you!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that I altered the timeline for Solas' canon romance!

Their stay in the Western Approach was about as good as any trip to a Blighted desert could be. Which was terrible. It was still hot—an arid, dry heat—and there was still an infestation of grumpy, scaled animals. Plus blood magic and a fort full of Venatori. It almost, _almost_ made Katria miss Cullen. 

After two weeks, their final task in the area was venturing out from Griffon Wing Keep to salvage some Warden artifacts and investigate the slew of darkspawn around. 

Katria was in her tent alone one night, lying on her bedroll thankful that the darkness had brought some respite from the heat. She had just rolled to her side, curling up to sleep as she customarily did, when the flap of her tent flew open. 

A knife was quickly in her hand—one she kept under her pillow, but the lithe shadow just slipped in and plopped down next to her. 

Katria blearily rubbed her eyes. She had a candle burning low next to some neglected reports, so she could just see the line of Ellana’s face as she drew her knees to her chest, small nose nestled in the space between them. 

“Um, hello, Inquisitor,” she began. “Is…everything alright?” 

Ellana made a small noise in her throat and nodded. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks streaked with tears that had dried. 

“Ellana,” Katria said more urgently, propping herself on her elbow. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s fine,” she whispered. “I’m fine. Everything is—I just wanted to be around someone.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “You can tell me anything, you know.” 

Ellana’s eyes flicked over to her, uncertain, before she collected herself and spoke. “Solas…said he couldn’t be with me anymore.” 

Katria was silent for a beat before she sat up further on her side. “What?” she hissed, then sighed exasperatedly. “I _knew_ it. He-,” 

Ellana began crying, hiding her face further with a meek sob. _That_ was the wrong thing to say, and Katria ran her hand along her temple. Comfort was something she was exquisitely bad at providing. 

“Don’t—cry,” she said awkwardly. “I mean, you can, but it’s just…” She patted her arm. “Solas is a bald prick. You are too good for him, and you shouldn’t even be-,” 

“I love him,” Ellana murmured. 

Katria let out a defeated breath. Another miss. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry.” 

Ellana lifted her head and wiped her eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m the Inquisitor. I’m supposed to be stronger than this.” 

“You don’t have to be for me,” Katria replied. 

More tears sprung forth, and with a small sound she collapsed against Katria’s chest, curling up to her. Katria was paralyzed for a moment before she stroked her short hair. 

She was unfamiliar with Ellana’s desire to seek out the company of others for comfort, but from her stories, her life with the Dalish worked that way. A true family. A network of support. Could it really be that Katria was a part of something like that now?

“What did he say?” Katria asked, snuggling down next to her. 

Ellana sniffled. “Some _nonsense_ about how he was distracting me from my duty. How he didn’t want us to progress any further because he thought I was simply too _impressionable_.”

Arse. Dumb, bald, condescending _arse_. Katria felt her nose crinkling in disgust, some fierce protective sense settling over her, and she decided Solas wouldn’t have a throat when she was done with him. 

“I’m sorry,” Katria said again because, fuck, she was bad at this. She began to stroke Ellana’s hair with her fingernails. 

“That feels good,” she muttered. 

“I…don’t remember much about my mother,” Katria began. “She died when I was five, but I do remember how she’d lay with me and stroke my hair. It was very soothing.” 

“It is,” she said, nestling closer. They laid in silence before she gave a defeated exhale. “What am I…supposed to do now?” 

“Solas isn’t worth your time,” Katria replied. “There’s a world out there that needs saving, and you have a group of friends who would do just about anything for you. Including me.” 

Ellana stiffened. “I just don’t understand _why_. I mean, is there something wrong with me? Did I-,” 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Katria insisted. “You’re great, and…and still young. You have more than enough time to…you know, be really in love.” 

“Except that every time I meet someone, I have to consider whether their kindness is a product of me being the Inquisitor,” she mumbled. 

“You’ll adapt,” she said. “Learn how to find which people are genuine.” 

“I don’t-,” Ellana tightened her grip, a wave of tears wracking her. “I really _liked_ him!” 

“I’m…” Katria trailed off and scrubbed her brow with her free hand. “Maker, I’m sorry. I wish I was better at this. I want to say the right thing.” 

“You’ve never had any kind of relationship end?” she asked. 

Katria gave a small laugh. “I don’t really believe in that sort of thing.” 

“You’re not even with anyone now?” 

“No,” she said quickly. “Nope. No. Definitely not.” 

Ellana leaned back, giving her a quizzical look. “Oh.” She curled back up to her chest and sighed. “Is it weird I just want to sleep forever?” 

“No,” Katria replied. “Though you might feel a little better once we get out of the desert and back to Skyhold.” 

“Can I stay here?” she asked. “In your tent? Solas and I used to share, but…” 

“Of course,” Katria replied, though it hurt a little. She had shared a tent with Clara for nine years, comforted her when she had nightmares, held her when she was scared. Clara even had boy trouble a few times, once Katria begrudgingly admitted she was old enough for that sort of thing. And that didn’t happen until she was close to twenty. 

Of course, Katria had played a hand in raising Clara, so the girl had punched the boy square in the nose after he was mean to her, then cried about it. Katria had sat with her for a very long time, stroking her long blonde hair, listening to her blubber about how she would never find anyone _ever_ who would like her. 

“It will all be alright,” Katria remarked after a long silence. “In the end.” 

Ellana did not reply because she’d already fallen asleep. 

=== 

The Inquisitor and her companions returned earlier than expected from the Western Approach. Cullen did not mind because they’d been particularly productive in the area, and perhaps…he was looking forward to seeing Katria. Not in any sentimental way because she’d made it perfectly clear she would not tolerate that. After the way he treated her in his office, he realized perhaps he should not want to tolerate it either. 

If they continued their activities, he could ignore that occasionally he thought about how nice her hair was, or that he enjoyed their conversations as he passed through the courtyard in the mornings. 

He saw her at dawn the day after they returned, standing with her arms crossed, intensely studying two of her agents who were sparring. One of them got knocked decently hard in the side and toppled over. 

“You should have seen that coming,” she announced, a slash between her brow. 

The young woman stood immediately, eager to please her obviously, and Katria’s expression softened. “Good work, though,” she said. “You’re improving.” 

She leaned against the wood of the sparring ring to address everyone. “You all are done for the morning. Leliana wants some of you in the rookery—you’ll likely be sent out to the Western Approach to Griffon Wing to keep tabs on the Wardens.” 

There were a few grumbles from the scouts—no one in the ranks liked to be sent to the desert. They dispersed as Katria circled the ring and finally noticed him. 

“Commander Cullen,” she said. “How can I help you?” 

“Uh, I don’t need anything,” he replied, rubbing his neck. “I just…I mean, hello, I guess.” 

Katria cocked an eyebrow. “Hi.” She turned and grabbed a set of small daggers from a bench nearby. She froze when she spotted Solas striding across the courtyard towards the steps leading up to the Great Hall. As usual, he was carrying books with him. Cullen looked back at Katria and recoiled slightly at the snarl on her face. 

She snatched the daggers up and spun on her heel towards the training dummies a few feet away along the stone wall. He followed her with a quizzical look. 

“What—what was _that_?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered. 

“Your face when you looked at Solas,” Cullen said, stopping in the long grass and watching as she opened a chest in the corner. Inside was an array of helmets. “You look like you want to rip his throat out.”

Katria grunted. “I do,” she admitted. “Or at least peel that stupid bald head of his.” 

“What happened?” he asked. 

She stood. She was holding what looked like a Warden’s helmet in one hand. “It’s-,” She sighed impatiently. “He broke things off with Ellana. She’s upset.” 

“Oh,” Cullen said. “I didn’t realize…” 

“It’s unfortunate,” Katria remarked, as she turned to the training dummy and secured the Warden helmet on top.

Cullen cocked his head as he watched her pace back and take a small dagger in her hand. “What in the Void are you doing?” he asked.

“Training,” she replied, as if the answer were obvious. 

He crossed his arms. “Yes, but what’s the helmet for?” 

Katria showed him the small knives spaced between three fingers. “They are only effective if they land in the right place. Sometimes it’s hard to find weak spots in armor, so….” 

She spun around and hurled one. It landed directly in the thin horizontal rectangle on the Warden’s helmet—the only open space on it. 

“I practice,” she finished. 

“I see,” Cullen replied. He told himself he was not impressed. 

Katria shrugged. “Since we’re laying siege to Adamant soon, I figured it would be best to become familiar with Warden armor.”

“Surprisingly…pragmatic,” he said. “For you.” 

She snorted and tossed another dagger. It landed fairly close to the one from before. “I just need something to take my anger out on,” she muttered, then flicked her eyes over to him. “And it’s far too early in the day for me to visit you.” 

He looked away, shifting his weight on his feet. “Is it?” 

“Unfortunately,” she replied sourly. “Varric made a comment last night about my _predilection_ for men in command. I’m afraid some rumor is hitting a little close to home.” 

Cullen nodded, but he did not think it would be so bad for people to associate them with one another. “I…shouldn’t be busy tonight.” 

She smirked. “I know.” 

His hand moved to his sword, squeezing it, until he noticed another helmet propped against the dummy. He knew its form all too well—a Templar helm. 

“You…practice with that one too?” he remarked. 

Katria pried the Warden helmet off and tossed it aside into the grass. She glanced over at him before retrieving the other one. “We do fight Templars corrupted with red lyrium,” she said. 

“I suspect you knew where to throw your daggers at Templar armor well before that,” he replied. 

“I did.” She pushed the helmet down and then stepped back. She smiled slightly. “Would you believe I could defeat a Templar with my eyes closed?” 

He shook his head. “I would not.” 

Katria procured another dagger, made an elaborate show of closing her eyes, and threw it. Of course, it landed in the thin slit of the helmet, and she examined her work with a satisfied look. 

“Now you’re just being a show-off,” Cullen said, though part of him was a little unsettled—Katria’s skill set was diametrically opposed to him. She sliced through Templars with a smile after years of training. He should not forget that. 

“Try to mask your obvious jealousy, Commander,” she shot back with a grin. 

The grass closer to the sparring ring crunched under a pair of feet, and they both turned. Ellana was there, smiling, though the expression did not reach her eyes as it normally did. 

“You sent a note for me a while ago, Cullen?” she began. 

He nodded and turned more fully. “Yes, I wanted to let you know that the smugglers we interrogated gave up the red Templars’ main source of lyrium,” he said. 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Straight to business, I see.” 

Cullen cleared his throat, guilt staining his cheeks pink. “Oh, I—forgive me, Inquisitor. I didn’t mean to…” He rubbed his neck. “How are you?” 

Ellana gave a small laugh. “It’s alright, Cullen. I was only teasing.” She shrugged. “Though I’m not doing splendidly, if I had to say.” 

“Is everything alright?” he asked. 

She waved her hand. “It’s fine,” she said. “Now tell me about this mine. Where is it?” 

“It’s located in the Dales, in a town called Sahrnia,” Cullen said. “Destroying the mine there will cripple Samson’s operation.” 

Ellana smiled. “Excellent work, Commander. I’ll investigate it as soon as I can.” 

“Destroying the red Templars’ source of lyrium will be a loss Samson won’t soon forget,” Cullen remarked. “If I come across any further information, I will forward it to you immediately.”

He hesitated before he spoke again. “Is there anything I could do for you?”

Ellana glanced over at Katria, who was pulling her daggers from the training dummy. “She told you?” 

“Oh—oh, um…” He ran his hand through his hair. “I certainly didn’t mean to pry, but…” 

“I told him,” Katria said. “He’s going to help me pin Solas down while I kick him repeatedly.” 

Ellana gave her a disapproving look. “That is completely unnecessary. Everything is fine.” 

Katria just gave a disbelieving grunt in reply. 

Ellana turned back to him and patted his arm. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I’ll be alright.”

Cullen nodded—though he hated that someone as kind as Ellana had such unfortunate things befall her. 

Ellana crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her head in time to see Solas leaving the Great Hall from where he’d entered it earlier. She watched him with a wrinkle between her brow—the sadness on her face must have been hard for Katria to see. 

Cullen thought about reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. She might even be short enough that he could pat her on the head, but he just gripped his sword instead. 

He heard a low growling noise behind him before Katria stalked past him, her long stride helping her cross the courtyard in seconds. 

Cullen watched her leave. “Where are you-,” 

“Oh no,” Ellana said in a low voice. 

Katria had reached Solas—the apostate cocked his head as she marched towards him, then he frowned as she began to speak. There was sadness in his eyes beyond that. 

She leaned closer, and Solas tried to raise his free hand to stop her. Cullen could not hear what Katria was saying; he imagined it was not complimentary. 

Ellana stepped forward. “I should-,” 

Katria then clocked Solas directly in the jaw. He staggered sideways—she had a great swing, and Cullen would know. The tomes in his hands scattered across the grass. 

Ellana gasped in horror and clapped her hands over her mouth. Katria stayed staring down at Solas, fist clenched tightly. Cullen was afraid for a moment she’d hit him again, but her shoulders eventually lowered, and she stepped away. 

Katria looked back at them from across the courtyard. She broke into a brilliant smile and gave a thumbs up with both hands. 

Ellana groaned and buried her face deeper into her palms while Cullen stifled his chuckle. He was also a little distracted because…Maker, Katria had a lovely smile. It lit up her face, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen that expression from her before. Likely because of their history.

It occurred to him that he was looking forward to seeing Katria that evening more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really cranking out the chapters because I'm having a lot of fun writing these! So thank ya'll for contributing to that!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is (very) NSFW. whew.

Katria’s knuckles were a little bruised from punching Solas. That man had a hard face. 

Ellana had rushed over the minute it happened, utterly _mortified_ she’d done that, even though Solas totally deserved it. Katria was a bit disappointed because she was trying to make Ellana feel better. She apparently just didn’t know how. Still, she felt a bit of personal satisfaction from doing it anyway. 

Cullen was alone when she peeked inside his office late in the night.

“You busy, Commander?” she asked, and her voice made him lift his head. 

His lip turned up in a grin. “No. I’ve been waiting for you.” He placed some reports on his desk beside a tray of half-eaten food and a cup of tea and approached her. 

Katria drew him over to the ladder with a wave of her hand. “Waiting long enough to be willing to shed that armor of yours?” 

“Absolutely,” he replied. 

She smirked and climbed up the ladder. She’d pulled her shirt over her head by the time he was there. 

“You’re behind,” she pointed out, and he strode over to his armor stand to carefully remove each piece of it. 

“Ellana looked upset about what happened earlier,” he remarked, as he unfastened his belt. 

Katria sighed impatiently—she could not admire his arse as he undressed if he kept wanting to talk. “She was,” she said. “Gave me some bullshit about how Solas was only doing what he thought was best.” 

Cullen shrugged. “Maybe he was.” 

She crossed her arms and frowned. “He _hurt_ her. He deserved to pay.” 

“You’re too over protective,” he replied. “Especially of Ellana. She’s the Inquisitor, not a child.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise. “I’m sorry, are you trying to use lecturing as some kind of foreplay?” 

“I’m just trying to have a conversation,” he protested. 

“You’re criticizing me,” she said. “You never approve of what I do.” 

“I never said that,” Cullen insisted. “I think it’s—I mean, it’s rather good. You’re loyal. To a fault, probably.”

Katria scrutinized him, then dropped her arms to her sides. He was out of his armor by then and surrendered his shirt as he walked over to her. 

“Thanks,” she said with uncertainty once he reached her. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and then his strong arms were wrapping around her as he pulled her into a kiss. He hummed against her lips, holding her tightly to him in a way she probably missed. 

They stumbled back to the bed, falling into it, and she shivered because his blanket was cold against her back. He piled attention on her, a slow worship as he slid his hands through her hair and across her chest. She crooked a leg around his hips and ground herself up against him as he deepened their kiss. 

He brought his lower lip between hers before he pulled away. His fingers tickled her ribs as they trailed to her waist, and he plucked at the strings on her breeches. She pulled them down as far as she could, but Cullen had already stopped, hand tracing a jagged, diagonal scar on her hip. 

He lifted his torso more. “I’ve…never noticed this.” 

“You’ve been preoccupied most times,” she replied, smiling slightly. 

“Where did it come from?” he asked. 

Katria gave a small laugh. “You don’t remember?” 

His brow furrowed. “Remember?” 

“It was in Kirkwall,” she explained. “When we fought in Darktown. That damned armor of yours cut me-,” 

“This badly?” he interrupted incredulously, thumb sliding across the puckered skin. 

“I…didn’t have the means to heal it,” Katria said. “Clara and I had to flee immediately. It scarred so badly because there was nothing I could do to fix it.” 

“Oh.” Cullen looked down at it, frowning. His eyes rose to her, tinged gray from the moonlight falling through the hole in his roof. “I’m so sor-,” 

Katria grasped his jaw in her hand. “Don’t even say it.” 

He sighed impatiently. “Fine. But I am _that_.” 

She brought his face forward to kiss him. “There is far too much talking going on.” 

Cullen slanted his mouth across hers and pinned her back to the bed. He took her complaint to heart and did not speak again. She kicked the rest of the way out of her breeches as his hand slid between her legs. A groan left her, and his mouth drifted lower. 

Her back arched up, drawing her eyes to the inky night sky above her. The heat pulsing from her core distracted her from what Cullen was doing until she felt his cool lips against her lower stomach. 

She shot up onto her elbows with a shaky breath. “O-Oh!” 

Cullen stopped, hand against her ribcage. “Are you okay?” 

Her cheeks were bright red, and her hips rolled slightly. “Um, it’s just—you’re…” 

“I’ll stop,” he said, chest rising further. 

“No, no,” Katria said hastily. “Maker, I’m sorry. No one has, er, done _that_ to me before.” She gestured awkwardly. “With their mouth. A-And I’m assuming you were…planning on it.” 

He looked bashfully away with a faint grin. “It had crossed my mind.” He shook his head. “Obviously, we won’t.” 

Katria’s lips parted, a confused noise lodged in her throat. It’s not like she didn’t _want_ that sort of attention, but most of her previous relationships had involved sex with clothes on, in cramped spaces, quick enough to not draw her away from anything important. She’d also never trusted any man sufficiently for that, and although she and Cullen were _not_ friends, she did feel safe with him. 

“Well…” She shifted on her elbows. “I-I mean…I’m a bit curious.” 

Cullen crawled back over her, his nose hovering above hers. “Only if you absolutely want to, Katria.” 

She ran her hand along the hair on the back of his head with a smirk. “Do you think you can do a good job at it?”

He kissed her once on the lips and neck. “I’ll make you scream,” he murmured into her ear. 

Katria covered her mouth because she gave a very undignified giggle. “Are you talking dirty to me?” 

“I’m trying to,” he muttered. 

She kissed him clumsily, hands circling his face. Her thumbs traced the line of his cheeks before she pulled away with a final wet kiss. “It worked,” she whispered hoarsely. “If you don’t fuck me in the next two seconds, I at least insist you do _something_.” 

Cullen grinned and his hands settled on her waist as his lips drew a warm line between her breasts that made her squirm. She tipped her head down for a moment, just to see his mussed blonde hair between her thighs. 

Katria covered her face with one hand and tried not to quiver too badly from the anticipation of… _that_. He used his thumb first, dragging the pad of it over her clit before his cool tongue flicked across her. 

Clearly, it was nothing she’d ever felt before, and some odd sound slipped through her pursed lips, as if she were trying to gasp and giggle and squeak at the same time. 

Cullen smiled slightly—she could feel it rather than see it, and he guided her legs onto his broad shoulders and applied more pressure with another swipe of his tongue. He was right that she wanted to scream, absolutely break apart at the cold traveling across her body from the air outside that made the heat between her legs more perfect. 

Her back arched off the bed, but he held her hips where he needed them, pleasuring her with a dogged determination that she knew should concern her, though it didn’t. 

She squirmed further against him with a moan, and he slid a finger past her slick folds; it made her cry out more loudly and dig her heels into his back. She gasped his name and begged him for more—begged him to never, ever stop. Maker, she’d do anything… 

Cullen groaned, the sound muffled, and rolled his hips into the mattress. His fingers dug into her thighs before sealing his lips around her sensitive nub and sucking on it. 

The whole ordeal was far too much—the more she thought about the fact that this was the best she’d ever felt, the louder she became. Her hand snaked into his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, not knowing if she was supposed to do that, just knowing it felt absolutely incredible when she did. 

“Cullen, _yes_ ,” she moaned. “Oh, _please_ …” 

She knew he growled again and moved his tongue more fervently because he liked hearing his name leave her lips. She liked it too. 

The momentum of it all quickly grew—her nails sharper in his hair, hips bucking as his fingers pumped in and out of her, tongue lapping against her in long, broad strokes. The pleasure laid bare for the past few minutes intensified as she came and her walls contracted around his fingers. 

She did scream a little—a strangled sound that left her while she threw her head back into the pillow and squeezed her thighs together. Each of her muscles clenched as she disintegrated under his tongue, rolling her hips to ride out the intensity of feeling to its very end. 

She was not very helpful after that—just a slack puddle of a person boneless against the sheets. The only part of her capable of moving was her chest, heaving as she tried to catch her breath, making small noises in between each sharp inhale. 

Cullen let go of her and wiped his mouth with his forearm. He crawled back over her, his body smothering hers, kissing her cheek down to her neck. His cock twitched, trapped between her flesh and his stomach, but he didn’t seem to care. 

He pressed his lips gently against her before he spoke. “I don’t care how mad it makes you,” he murmured into her neck. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Her eyes fluttered shut. Beauty wasn’t bad, perhaps. He could think she was pretty because that still had to do with sex. She might have panicked if she wasn’t so spent—or maybe she would be angry because he just wouldn’t let things be _easy_. Was this the last straw?

She mostly pulled herself back together and lifted her hand to the back of his head. 

“Cullen please just fuck me,” she said softly. 

His breath fanned across her neck in a sigh before he shifted and slid into her easily. He clenched his hands in the sheets when he did, and she raised her thighs slightly around him as he moved inside her. 

It felt very nice, but she didn’t come again, only dragged her fingers through his hair and held him close as he rutted against her; he was probably the most gentle he’d ever been. 

He finished soon and quietly—his hands rose to her face, burying into the hair at her temples as he rested his forehead on hers. His eyes were screwed shut, and he breathed short and hot against her face until she pressed their mouths together. He made a low groan as his tongue slid past her lips, and his hips lifted up to thrust hard once as he emptied himself. 

Cullen rested on his elbows afterwards, laying silent on her while the wind rustled the gnarled vines growing across his roof. His nose brushed hers and their eyes met in the faint light.

“Say something,” he whispered. 

She splayed her hand across his bare chest and pushed him back a few inches. “You promised me that things wouldn’t be like this.” 

Cullen’s brow puckered before he broke from her gaze and rolled off her. His arm flopped over his head, the other across his stomach. He turned his head to watch her. 

Katria sat up. She did not care that he might be _disappointed_. This is what they agreed to, and he should stick to it. Clearly he was having severe misconceptions about how he felt about her. He was letting intimacy deceive him. 

“Are you angry with me?” he asked. 

Her shoulders lifted as she sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms on either side of her. “No,” she finally said. “Though I think you’re a fool.” 

He rested his hand behind his head. “A fool?” 

Katria turned to look at him. “You let yourself think that you feel differently about me, but…” She shook her head. “I’m just not the kind of girl you end up with.” 

“You can’t know that before we even try,” he replied gently.

Her heart trilled rapidly then—his words were overwhelming; they spawned questions she’d never thought she might ask because what man would want someone so sharp and broken when—when women like Ellana existed in the world. The younger and more beautiful girls who maybe weren’t as brave as Katria but were also much less scared. Whose smiles didn’t hide so much, and whose hands were not so bloodied. 

Did Cullen _want_ this? Did he even know what he wanted? Had he truly looked past her flaws, or merely tricked himself into thinking he had? Was she giving too much credence to his words, and did he only mean for them to be friends? 

Katria didn’t know what being with someone in that way looked like. Staying in his bed afterwards. Listening to his heartbeat as he slept. Telling him about the things in her life she’d never dared to admit to anyone before. 

She covered her mouth and stood. “Cullen, this is insane.” 

“Katria-,” 

She strode over to her clothes, donning them quickly and with shaking hands. She made some shrill snort of disbelief. “You—you’re not even sure you want this. I _know_ you’re not!” 

He sat up. “You won’t give me the opportunity to find out!” 

Katria clenched the threadbare sleeves of her tunic between her fingers. “Maker, you _promised_.”

“It’s not that simple,” he protested. “I can’t help that I want the _chance_ to see if-,” 

“Why bother?” she cut in exasperatedly. “It will end badly, Cullen. It _always_ ends badly for me.”

“That’s a-,” He made a frustrated noise. “That’s a shitty way to think about relationships, Katria, and you know it.” 

She pulled her boot over her foot. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

Cullen didn’t reply immediately—just pressed the heels of his palms tight against his temples. He was not happy with her, she knew. Maybe that was a good thing. 

Katria walked to his ladder, the floorboards creaking under her. “We should stop this,” she said, eyes downcast. “People are beginning to get suspicious, and we’re both better off focusing on preparations for Adamant.”

He was silent for a few moments, contemplating. “You’re right,” he eventually said and lifted his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. This clearly wouldn’t work.” 

Katria swallowed roughly because somehow that was _exactly_ what she wanted to hear and yet it still felt like a punch to the gut. She nodded, a bit numbly, and then turned to begin climbing down his ladder. Cullen did not even watch her go—he merely flopped back against the bed with a hand over his face. 

She leapt off about half way down the ladder and landed hard on his office floor. She tried to put her mind in the right place—set it gently on the tracks she’d created for herself for fifteen years: she did not care, there was no emotional connection between her and this man, and she was saving herself pain in the long run. 

And that was _true_. Especially with Cullen. She found it so easy to hate him, and so much harder to absolve him of his crimes. He would face the same problem, if he ever _really_ thought how they might work together. 

It was stupid to think she could somehow be in a real relationship with him. It would be a fool’s errand to even try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses from exhaustion* probably a few more days until I update, but it will be exciting! Y'all are the best.


	22. Chapter 22

“And so Hawke says: it looks like the Duke has fallen from grace…” 

Everyone laughed as Varric finished his story with a grin and a flourish of hands, except Katria, who raised a single brow in his direction because she must have heard his tale at least ten times. Varric had story telling down to an art form, and his face brightened immeasurably when his one-liners were well-received. She understand their desire to laugh—it made the place they were currently in a little less abysmal. 

Katria shifted—the sand and grit from the ground had invaded every nook and cranny of her body. Between her toes, under her arms, in her hair. There was no escape from it. 

The entirely of the Inquisition’s troops were camped a respectable distance away from Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach. Their siege would begin in two days, and the atmosphere was tense for it. No one wanted to think about how bad things would be once they breached the walls—mislead Wardens, powerful mages, blood magic, demons. The stuff of nightmares. 

So, Varric’s stories at night were a welcome reprieve. They sat around an unnecessary fire, enjoying the light it provided but disparaging the additional heat it brought. The sky stretched out colossal and black above them, an astounding landscape littered with stars. 

Katria heard the slosh of liquid from the glass in her hand and watched as Hawke poured her another round. He lifted his head and looked at her after. His brown eyes were not unlike Cullen’s, though in every other way he was completely different. Much more like her. Glib, irreverent, deeply cynical underneath all that at times. He also had a beard and dark hair in that rugged way Cullen simply did not exude—their Commander was far too _pretty_ , as Varric put it. 

Hawke sat beside her most nights, legs outstretched, his foot occasionally tilting slightly to brush hers. To test the waters, probably. To see if she’d reciprocate. Which she wanted to—or wanted to convince herself to. 

Cullen had an astonishing dedication to his work in the month after their falling out. He hardly slept or ate, merely stalked the battlements double and triple checking their supplies and his orders. Above all else, he was very good at his job. 

Their roles in the Inquisition necessitated some interaction. Cullen remained professional and Katria ceased her teasing because that’s what got her in trouble in the first place. He seemed utterly unaffected by the end of their arrangement, which she used as evidence to prove to herself that he wasn’t all that interested in her anyway.

He never joined him around the fire as they traveled from Skyhold to the Western Approach. He’d pass by once or twice every night to speak to Ellana about something—Varric always tried to rope him into having one drink, but he always politely declined. Whether because of Katria or because he was too busy she did not know. 

“It is getting late,” Cassandra remarked from across the fire, her stern features shrouded in shadow. “We should retire to ensure we are rested.” 

Varric raised his tankard. “Come on, Seeker, you must be having a _little_ fun.” 

Cassandra stood, brushing the sand off her breeches, though it did little good. “Your stories are all well and good, but we have a battle to fight soon.” 

“All the more reason to drink as much as we can,” Katria said. “What if this bottle of West Hill Brandy is my last?” 

“We’re all going to be _fine_ ,” Ellana insisted earnestly, probably to assure herself more than anything. She stood. “Though Cassandra is right. We need to make sure we are prepared.”

“I’m glad _you_ have the right idea,” Cassandra said to Ellana, who grinned in reply before they both disappeared into the darkness to their tents. 

“How do you put up with such severity?” Hawke asked, as he tossed the empty bottle of brandy beside him and drained his drink. 

“Poorly,” Katria replied.

“Scout Trevelyan.” 

She turned and saw a messenger standing just inside the ring of light cast by the fire. She was immediately handed a report—something from Leliana probably about what her spies had observed as they forged ahead. 

“Thank you,” Katria replied after accepting it, and the man disappeared with a salute. She perused it, felt Hawke’s eyes on her, than sighed. 

“I should go deal with this,” she said. 

Hawke put his hand over his chest in mock horror. “No! Don’t tell me they’ve gotten to _you_ too!” 

Katria laughed and smacked him with the back of the board. “I am as unserious as ever, I can assure you, but I’m also not the boss of this whole operation.” 

She went to stand, but then his hand was gently touching her arm. She tried not to pay attention to the massive muscles in his biceps that sometimes she thought about running her hands along. 

“If you’re not busy afterwards, I’ll be awake,” he said. 

She smiled slightly. “Will you?” 

He grinned back at her. “I may even have another bottle of brandy in my tent, if that would interest you.” 

Katria raised her brow. “You know the way right to my heart, don’t you?” 

“I hope so,” he replied, in a voice with more baritone than Cullen’s. 

She stood completely and gave a small shrug. “Perhaps I’ll stop by.” 

“I look forward to it,” Hawke said, as he settled back against the log they had been propped against. He inclined his head in a small nod as she left. 

Katria retreated from the fire, following the path scattered with smaller torches that lit the way between the massive network of Inquisition tents. She heard the crunch of sand before someone saddled up beside her. 

“I’m _appalled_.”

Katria gave a withering glare to Dorian, his teeth shining in the darkness as he smiled mischievously.

“And why am I not surprised?” she deadpanned. 

“Here I thought that you and Commander Cullen were continuing your torrid affair-,” 

“Poor choice of words,” Katria interjected. 

Dorian ignored her. “Only to find out that it is the Champion of Kirkwall who has piqued your interest.” 

“It might behoove you to get your facts straight, you know,” she said. “No one is currently…piquing my interest, whatever that means.” 

“What happened to Cullen?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“So it’s over then?” he began. “Because you did something wrong?” 

Katria made an indignant sound. “Why do you immediately assume it’s _my_ fault?” She threw her hand up impatiently. “We had an agreement and _he_ is the one who starting blathering about-,” She clenched her jaw. “Never mind.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “And now you’ve moved on to a man who is disappointingly just your type.” 

“My type?” 

“Your type, my dear,” he repeated. “The rugged, dark-haired bad boy who spurns authority with his muscular arms and seduces you with his lack of severity.” 

“That is absurd,” she replied. “I do not have a _type_.” 

Dorian crossed his arms. “Really? What about the man you slept with before Cullen?”

Katria grated her teeth together. The answer was Derek, technically. “He was a dark-haired-,” 

“Thief probably,” he finished with a wave of his hand. “That seems like your kind of man too.” 

“Fine, yes,” she said impatiently. “I have a type. But it’s not like Cullen doesn’t either. A type that I patently do _not_ fall into.” 

“I’m not sure our Commander’s been with enough women to have a type,” Dorian replied. 

“Yes, but when he does, they’ll be-,” She cut herself off to gesture with her hands. “They’ll be these short, petite women in their mid-20’s at peak fertility with small waists and large breasts and soft skin and nice hair they actually _know_ how to style with clothes that-,” 

Dorian stopped walking, kicking up some sand. He let out a small laugh. “Wait, wait,” he said. “Why do you sound jealous?” 

She halted beside him. “I’m not jealous,” she replied defensively. 

“Of course not.” 

Katria huffed. “I’m not going to do this with you because Cullen and I are no longer involved. Nothing was between us and there never will be.” She wrinkled her brow. “He just doesn’t understand who I am.” 

“Maybe that’s because you haven’t explained it to him yet,” Dorian pointed out. 

“I-,” Katria stopped, clapping her mouth shut like a fish. “You-,” 

He patted her shoulder. “Don’t fight how correct I am about this whole situation.” 

She scowled. “I have work to do and-,” She flung her hand back to the fire well behind them. “And maybe after I’ll have sex with some man who is more my _type_!” 

Dorian appraised her. “You’re not going to sleep with Hawke.” 

Katria raised a finger to him. “Just watch me.” 

“No thank you,” he said. “That sort of thing really isn’t to my taste and-,” 

“That’s not what I _meant_ ,” she cut in. 

“You’re not going to do it anyway,” Dorian replied. “No matter how nice his arms are.” 

“Goodnight,” she said back to him through her clenched teeth. 

He smirked, so utterly satisfied he was getting under her skin. “Goodnight, my dear.” 

Dorian turned away with a flourish, disappearing into the darkness where she hoped he stayed. She did not need to be bothered further about her love life—her _nonexistent_ love life because there was no sort of emotional attachment between her and Cullen. And even if there had been a small one, it wasn’t what she wanted. Ever. _Ever_.

===

Cullen could see the lights of Adamant flickering from their camp. It unsettled him. He would soon lead a charge with hundreds of men, and he knew their plan was sound, and he was confident they would emerge victorious, but there would still be a cost. 

He needed that cost to be as small as possible, so he worked diligently. Probably _too_ diligently. He hadn’t slept much, or eaten when he should, and he certainly hadn’t done anything for leisure since he and Katria stopped whatever it was they were doing. 

During the month leading up to their arrival in the Western Approach, Cullen had done an adequate job keeping Katria well out of his primary train of thought. He cut her off easily—it’s not like the attachment he had was strong or secure. 

Then, a few days earlier, he’d noticed Ellana, her companions and Hawke all sitting around the fire, relaxing, unwinding, and he really didn’t care to do that, but he’d seen Katria there. Drinking, obviously. But also with Hawke. 

Glib, irreverent Hawke who’d been nothing but a thorn in his side in Kirkwall. The Champion was brave, certainly, and ethical, but he was not exactly someone he would call a friend. Especially not after Cullen saw the way he sat with Katria. 

Hawke was always settled beside her, for at least a week—sometimes their shoulders touched, or he’d stretch his legs out and rest his arm behind where they were sitting. And if Cullen watched long enough without being detected, she’d turn and _smile_ at him. And laugh at some stupid joke he made, and then her long fingers would brush his arm. What kind of mage had arms like that anyway? 

Cullen did not think about these things that often. He forced his focus to the upcoming battle, except for those moments when he passed the camp fire, and the slash in his brow grew and grated his nerves.

He thought that if he found reasons to dislike Katria he would not feel that way. But unfortunately she continued to be compassionate and endearing—his men saw her as one of _them_ , and she had a remarkable way of calming those who were especially frightened about the siege. It was annoying, to say the least. 

Well past midnight, Cullen was still at his desk, again studying the blueprints of Adamant Leliana had procured. The flap of his large tent flew open, and his gaze rose, expecting some messenger when instead his eyes met murky blue ones, and he quickly looked away. 

“From Leliana,” Katria said. “We had some spies move in pretty close to the fort. Some parts of the walls are weaker than others, under construction and such, so perhaps that could be a place to target our trebuchets?” 

“I see,” Cullen replied and reached out to accept the report from her. Once he did, he began to read it immediately, yet he could feel her still standing there with her unkempt hair and ratty jacket. Hawke could have her, if he wanted. 

“You look terrible,” she remarked. 

“What?” 

Katria took a few steps closer, though there was still a table between them. “When’s the last time you slept? Ate?” 

“Why does that matter?” he asked. 

She made an impatient sound. “Because you have to take care of yourself.” 

“Like you care about that,” he snapped. 

Katria shook her head. “I don’t,” she ground out. “But have you forgotten what you’re doing here?” She circled around to him and pushed a finger to his breastplate. “You lead these men into battle, my _friends_ , and if you aren’t taking care of yourself, you’re not taking care of _them_. So you’re going to eat a full meal before this fucking battle and get some sleep.” 

“You have no authority over me,” Cullen replied evenly. 

“Ellana has authority over you, and I can convince her to order you to rest,” she said with a smirk. 

He tossed the report on the table with a frown. “I much preferred when you left me alone.” 

“Well so did I, but there’s a lot at stake here, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she said. 

Cullen briefly lost control of his leashed temper and snapped at her. “I am more aware than anyone about what is at stake!” 

She did not shrink from him. “Then do not neglect your duty to yourself because it _will_ affect how you fight.”

“Fine,” Cullen growled. He turned away slightly, eyes on his desk, before he scowled. “Though perhaps you should take that advice as well and stop—stop dithering with…” 

Katria cocked her head. “Dithering? With who?” She paused and gave a small snort. “Wait—are you talking about _Hawke_?” 

He clenched his hand around his sword. “What?” he began. “No—I mean, _no_. It does not concern me who you are sleeping with.” 

“You think I’m sleeping with Hawke?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Cullen shifted awkwardly. “Well, it’s—it’s fairly obvious from the way you act around him.” 

She was silent for a beat. “You’re jealous.” 

He spun to her. “I am not _jealous_.” 

Katria flung her arm out. “You have no right to be angry with me because I’m with someone else!” 

“Oh, so you are sleeping with him, then?” Cullen snapped back. 

“That’s not your business,” Katria replied. 

He knew it was not supposed to be his business, or within his realm of concern, but _Maker_ did he want to know if that glib mage was putting his hands on her. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered. 

“You brought it up,” she said sourly. “After _you_ ruined things between us, I wanted—I can have someone else.” 

“But _Hawke_?” he blurted out before he chided himself for such an outburst. 

“I like him,” she protested, brows lowered. “He’s—he’s funny, and not as uptight as you.” 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to care about his personality,” he said. “About whether or not you’re _compatible_.” 

“I don’t,” she replied sharply. “Though I sure as fuck like talking to him more than you.” 

“Good for you,” he snapped back, probably too harshly, and he reached for a report on his desk to reign himself in. “You know, Trevelyan, as much as I like hearing about your…poor life decisions, I’m quite busy.” 

Katria made a disgusted noise, glaring at him. “You are an insufferable man,” she muttered, then her eyes rose to his. “I will gladly leave. Just stop being an idiot and get some sleep.” 

“Goodbye, Trevelyan,” he ground out, and she spun on her heel and stalked off. She flung the flap of his tent back unnecessarily hard as she left. 

His shoulders slumped once she was gone because Maker he wasn’t supposed to lose his temper around her or be jealous except that maybe he was. Perhaps because she’d chosen Hawke as her next…person. 

Cullen’s eyes roamed his desk, reports scattered there, blue prints, ink wells—it reminded him his mind should be in his work and not concentrated with some impossible woman with zero sense. And nice legs and a bright smile, but he was choosing to ignore that for the foreseeable future. Or forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small chapter, but hope y'all enjoyed! Should have the next one out soon!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of abuse in this chapter
> 
> For those of you who might have read my other story "Are We Having Fun Yet?" you have heard this part of Katria's backstory already, but hopefully it is presented in a different enough context to not be disinteresting.

The gates of Adamant Fortress gave a deafening _crack_ when they were pried open. Quickly. Efficiently. In the exact time frame Cullen specified before the battle began. 

Katria would have been impressed if the minute they opened, a hailstorm of arrows hadn’t rained down upon her, forcing her up against the tall stone wall. She shuffled along it and then followed Ellana and the others past the breached door. 

Most of the Wardens stationed there fell back, but a few remained. Two mages, the demons bound to them, and three warriors. Ellana’s group made quick work of them, and then the small courtyard was mostly empty, though still loud, the clash of swords and strangled cries swirling around them on the battlements.

One of the projectiles from the trebuchets arched high in the darkness, crashing into the walls and shaking the ground under their feet. 

“Inquisitor!” 

Katria spun and saw Cullen rush towards Ellana. “You have your way in,” he said. “Best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.” 

She did not like the phrase “as long as we can.” It implied there was an end to their efforts, and she might lose—things she didn’t want to. 

“I’ll be fine,” Ellana said. “Just keep the men safe.” 

His brow puckered. “We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor.” 

They all turned their heads upon hearing a long wail echo down as a man was flung off the walls. Katria could see the Warden’s demons slinking along the battlements between the faint light of the torches. 

Cullen made a frustrated noise. “There’s too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can’t get a foothold.” 

Ellana nodded curtly and turned. “Hawke, Katria, Varric,” she said, voice carrying across the clash of metal and crackle of flames around them. “Follow Cullen to the battlements and assist our men on the east side. We’ll go west.” 

Hawke pulled his staff from his back and spun it. “Can’t think of a better team to fight with.” 

Katria threw a grin in his direction before Cullen spoke again. 

“We’ll cover your advance,” he said, then met her gaze, but he was exclusively _Commander_ Cullen in that moment, so he only inclined his head and quickly made his way to the stairs. She tried not to be worried for him. 

Katria, Hawke and Varric followed, while Ellana and the others split off in the opposite direction. They desperately needed the walls secured to keep their men from getting swarmed in the fortress. Plus, Cullen’s best place to monitor the battle was from above. 

They climbed the battlements after slicing through a few straggling Wardens. Before they reached the top, they also crossed a small platform guarded by some others. Just as they came into view, one of the Warden warriors raised his sword and shouted. 

“Stay back! We will not be sacrificed by some insane ritual!”

They were spotted right after that, and Hawke cast a barrier over them just as the Warden mages cast fire in a projectile towards them. Their demons—armored Shades—screeched and lunged for them. 

Cullen and Katria went after the mages first. He swung his sword from the front while Katria moved in on the side and buried her dagger in the weak spot of their robes. When she spun away from a staff blade being flung in her direction, a bright flash of blue burst up from the ground—a complex network of runes just under her feet and she jumped back before they activated. She fell clumsily down, but recovered by rolling backwards. 

Hawke and Varric had felled the other mages, leaving only the warriors. Cullen was striding towards them, and Katria lurched forward. 

“ _Wait_!” 

Cullen’s neck snapped around to give her an astonished look, but she had already rushed to stand between him and the remaining Wardens. She raised her hands to them, palms forward. 

“Just wait!” she shouted over the din of battle. 

Katria could not gauge the Wardens’ expressions through their helmets, but they stopped, their stances defensive, voices wary. 

“Keep your distance!” one ordered. 

“What are you doing?” Cullen hissed angrily behind her. 

She ignored him. “The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel, not to kill Wardens!” she said. “If you fall back, you won’t be harmed!”

“Liar!” the Warden snapped. 

“It’s true,” she insisted. “The Commander of the Inquisition will ensure those who cooperate are not punished.”

The Warden shifted his stance, sword still drawn. They stood in tense silence—a silence that made sweat break out across her brow because neither of her weapons were in her hands. 

“All right,” the Warden eventually said, and her shoulders slumped in relief. “My men will stay back. We want no part of this. Deal with Clarel as you must.” 

He nodded to the other Wardens and all they lowered their weapons. Katria turned and saw Hawke putting his staff on his back so they could move forward. 

“I’m glad they listened to reason,” he said. 

Cullen lowered his shield. “Yes,” he remarked. “Good work, Trevelyan.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Could I get that compliment in writing?” 

He made a disgusted sound because of course Commander Cullen would be even less receptive to her jokes than usual. “Let’s get moving.” 

As predicted, the situation on the battlements was not good. The Wardens and their demons put up a vicious fight—demons that included massive, electricity shooting ones Katria was not particularly fond of. Its low, guttural laugh rattled her teeth in her jaw. It swung its massive hands and sent Inquisition soldiers— _their_ men—flying off the walls to their deaths. 

Their attempt to clear the walls was hard-fought. Katria had been bashed hard by a Warden’s shield, had half her arm singed by a ball of electricity, and an arrow had sliced a long line across her shoulder. 

Still, the demon fared worse and once Hawke sent a massive blast of fire at its chest, it staggered back and crushed a small cluster of tents underneath it. 

A pile of rubble was near too, as well as Cullen, who was ripping his sword from the demon’s flesh. She was at his flank doing the same, except she moved closer to him and away from the demon once it began to fall. 

The demon crashed to the ground, and its arm flew back against a tall section of the wall and destroyed it. Crumbled pieces of stone and dust went flying everywhere.

Katria tried to cover her eyes and head—she and Cullen were both too close. 

“Look out!” 

She was shoved bodily aside and fell to the ground on her elbow. Cullen had pushed her from the falling rubble, then a stone bigger than her fist struck him across the temple. He staggered backwards and onto one knee with a strangled sound. 

Katria scrambled over to him—stupid man with his stupid bravery. Despite the sudden rush of admiration she felt for him, she was _not_ some damsel in distress, and he was certainly not the prince she’d end up with when everything was over. 

“Cullen,” she said once she was close enough. “Are you alright?” 

He did not reply and only put his palm over his forehead as blood seeped between his fingers. He tried to stand, but she could see dizziness washing over him as he stumbled sideways. 

“Stop,” she ordered and grabbed ahold of the matted fur on his coat. “Just stop.” 

“No, I need-,”

Katria dragged him down to the ground, forcing him to sit. “Let me see.” 

She pried his hand from the wound, but by now there was already blood dripping down the side of his face. He blinked away the sweat that had gathered on his eyelashes. His chest was heaving underneath his dirt-streaked breastplate. 

“Just take some deep breaths, okay,” she said. 

His shock wore off enough for him to try and scramble for his sword. “I don’t have time for this.” 

“Actually, you do have time for me to keep you from bleeding out all over your armor,” she said. “And dying.” 

Cullen swallowed. “Is it that— _ah_!” He hissed in pain when she applied pressure to the wound. 

“It’s not too deep,” she said. “The face just bleeds a lot.” 

“I know,” he muttered, and his glove weakly lifted to the scar on his lip and left a streak of blood there. 

Katria fumbled through the small sack at her belt. She only had one health potion remaining, but pulled it out and offered it to him anyway. 

“Here,” she said. 

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “But-,” 

“Come on,” Katria said, pushing it into his hand. “The Inquisition needs its commander more than it needs some incompetent rogue.” 

Cullen brought the philter to his dry lips, choking it down before tossing it aside. “You’re amazing,” he said. 

“Amazing?” she repeated incredulously, as she wiped the excess grit and blood off his face. 

“Yes,” he muttered. “Maybe one of the best. Fighters.” 

Katria tossed the bloody rag in her hand aside. He must have been knocked in the head harder than she thought. “You’re still a little delirious, Commander.” 

Cullen tried to stand too early, and Katria grabbed his arm and tried to support him as he leaned into her. 

They heard the clap of footsteps against the stone flag—Ellana and the others had finally rounded to them after clearing the other parts of the walls. 

“We need to find Clarel,” Ellana said. She stopped when she spotted Cullen. “Is he alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Cullen insisted, and pulled away from Katria, even though he still felt a bit shaky. 

“We need to stop their ritual,” Hawke said. 

Ellana nodded. “Let’s go. Commander-,” 

“We will keep the bulk of the demons off you,” Cullen finished with a salute. 

The Inquisitor waved them down a set of stone stairs, and Katria looked over at Cullen. 

“Be safe,” she said. Not out of sentiment but because the Inquisition would likely not survive this battle if the leader of its military perished doing something entirely too brave. 

Cullen tightened his grip on his sword. “You too.” 

Katria checked his head wound one final time to ensure the bleeding had stopped, then tapped his breastplate with her knuckle and disappeared down the stairs behind Ellana. 

===

After the battle, Cullen had his head examined by a healer later than he should have. But there were an unprecedented amount of things to be done, especially after Ellana invited the remaining Wardens into the Inquisition ranks. The fortress was mostly destroyed, and those who were able searched the rubble for any survivors, while Cullen tried to keep some semblance of organization of his supplies and men. 

He also wanted to know what exactly happened to Ellana and her companions in the Fade. It was a crippling experience, obviously—the Inquisitor had retreated straight to her tent after emerging from the rift. She was not yet in any condition to debrief about what transpired there. 

Cullen assumed it went poorly. Physically entering the Fade for the first time in a thousand years was not an experience to take lightly. Add in the fact that Warden Stroud did not return, that they probably fought untold horrors while there, and he understood why he hadn’t gotten any specifics, no matter how badly the commander in him wanted to know all the relevant details. 

Cullen had shed his armor for enough time to clean it and let it dry—the blood and ash and water would make it rust, so he made an exception to his rule to never be seen without it. He was marching around with a stack of reports, weaving through tents so early in the morning the camp was still covered in darkness. He checked in with the healers who were examining the injured as they lay on a network of bedrolls; he prayed desperately that each one survived, despite knowing he had far too much hope about that. 

Cullen then passed the tent he knew for a fact was Katria’s. He was reminded about the devastation he felt as soon as he was told that the Inquisitor and her companions had disappeared into a rift. It was a crushing panic for all his friends, but all he could really think about was the irritation plain on Katria’s face when she’d left his tent days before. The fact that he’d snapped at her when he wanted to say different things. _Very_ different things. And that he might never get the chance to. 

There was a candle flicking past the canvas as Cullen hovered outside. His fingers brushed the front of the tent, retracting once before he finally pushed it open.

There was water on the ground _everywhere_. The tub that had been brought inside for her was half empty, but the water remaining was mostly clean. It was like she’d stood beside it and splashed water over herself to get clean, making quite a mess in the process. 

The next instant he heard a loud cry, startling him badly, and Katria shot up from her cot where she was sleeping. Cullen dropped the reports in his hands, and they splashed in the puddles of water as he rushed over to her. 

“Maker, are you alright?” 

She ignored him—her eyes glazed and staring wide and terrified in front of her. Her chest was heaving, verging on hyperventilation. 

Cullen knelt down and placed his hand on the edge of her cot. 

“Katria,” he said gently. “You’re safe. It was only a dream.” 

Her brow rose, recognizing his words, before she buried her face in her hands. “No, no, _no_ ,” she sobbed. “I’m not—I haven’t had…” 

She was trembling violently after that, her skin flushing red and blotchy while she wept. 

Cullen hesitated—panicking because he had zero idea what to do. He raised his hand and put it between her shoulder blades; an experiment, and when she didn’t flinch or jerk away, he put his other hand on her knee. 

“Katria…” 

She paused the desperate cadence of her breath, swallowing as her eyes rose to his. He squeezed her leg, reflexively, because he’d never seen her look so frightened before. Her lip quivered before she averted her eyes. 

“It’s…okay,” he said, feeling utterly inadequate. He could hardly think of anything else to do, so he pulled her against him and raised himself to perch on the edge of the bed. She was a tall woman, so she didn’t fit easily on his lap. He felt like they were more of a tangle of limbs as she sobbed into his chest, but he hoped it helped. 

A part of Cullen told him he shouldn’t do this. That he should spurn the comfort she so clearly needed and leave her—look her in the eye and say that his _neglect_ is what she asked him for, so she would get it. 

But he didn’t; he held her warm body to his like she was his most valuable possession. She smelled like sand and sweat and her hair had been scrubbed with some lemon soap and laid damp across his face as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck. 

Her hands eventually clenched his tunic as a massive breath left her lungs. “I’m so sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t normally…I haven’t had that dream in…” 

“You had a nightmare?” he asked. 

Katria wrenched her eyes shut and turned her head away. “Maker, Cullen, this is a mess.” 

He tried to keep a hold of her. “What’s wrong?” 

She hesitated before speaking. “That demon we encountered in the Fade gained power by feeding off fear. People’s nightmares specifically. It takes them _away_ from us, but I guess because we killed it…” 

She shook her head. “The demon gave Ellana some of her memories back from the Conclave. The nightmare I had—it must have returned that, too. Or triggered it, I don't know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said softly. 

Katria swallowed, the muscles in her jaw tense. “It’s…alright. I was only caught off-guard, and…that was a bad time in my life.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he said. “But I’ll stay, if you want.” 

Her eyes finally rose to his, very close to him, her face drawn in an expression he could not read. “I should tell you,” she whispered, so faintly he could hardly hear. “You…” 

“Whatever you want.” One hand tightened on her waist. “Katria.” He added her name because he loved its sound and so desperately hated calling her Trevelyan. 

Katria looked away, distancing herself as always. Her eyes searched the empty space around the tent and the shadows from the rising sun. She opened her mouth a few times, then sighed, trying to start but not finding the right words. 

“My mother was not in a happy marriage,” she eventually said. “My father was much older than her and was…impatient and paranoid. It was rumored that she often found comfort in the arms of other men. I was five when she died, so I don’t know if that’s even true, but…” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “My father believed the rumors. Especially the one about her sleeping with some apostate in Ostwick around the time I was conceived. He was convinced I was not his real child.” 

Her hand clenched in her lap. “Worse, he was convinced that I would be a mage. From this apostate fathering me. Which he could never prove, of course, but that didn’t matter.” 

“Your father really didn’t want you to be a mage I imagine,” Cullen said. 

“No noble man would want that for his child,” Katria replied. “Though _he_ especially hated the idea. I don’t know…what happened to him, but he hated magic. Barred me and my siblings from so much as talking about it, much less learning or being exposed to it. He—he’d rather that mages were simply made Tranquil the minute their powers emerged.”

Cullen internally winced—he’d known men like that too. Worked beside them. Thought they were decent people, even. 

“But you aren’t a mage,” he remarked, and she turned her head to briefly meet his eyes. 

She was silent for a few moments. “No,” she eventually murmured. “I’m not.” 

Cullen’s brow wrinkled. “Was that your nightmare?” 

Katria snorted half-heartedly. “No,” she said. “I mean, my father was mean, certainly. He doted on my brother and sister and despised me. No one could stop him after my mother died. But that wasn’t…what I saw in the nightmare.”

Cullen rested his forehead against her. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too difficult.” 

“I can,” she whispered, then sniffled. “The point is that the older I got, the more paranoid my father became. I was closer and closer to _that age_ where mages discover their magic, and the worry drove him to madness, I think.”

Cullen exhaled. “Madness doesn’t sound good.” 

“It wasn’t,” she said. “He…came across this book. Not from Ferelden or Orlais. It was about superstitions and ways ‘to prevent magic formation in the earliest stages’. Nonsensical stuff about how to keep one's child from 'becoming' a mage. He thought it was perfect for me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Cullen said. 

“It’s not,” she replied. “And yet people still believed in that ancient crap because they wanted to believe they could prevent their bloodlines from being tainted by magic. My father ate it up.” 

“What kind of things did he do?” he asked.

“Not my father,” she said, eyes away again. “Templars. He selected a few from the Ostwick Circle and paid them very well.” 

They sat in a tense silence, and Cullen felt guilt clench his chest, even though he was no longer a Templar. Even though he did not yet know what happened. 

Katria squirmed. “This is—I hate this,” she said. “I hate saying this. I hate being sad about it. I hate that I’m still _scared_.” She ran her hand through her hair. “The Templars—drowned me. Because submerging me in water was supposed to kill the dormant magic before it killed _me_. I was nine.”

Cullen stiffened. “Wait—what?” he said. “Katria-,” 

She made a defeated sound and shook her head. "The _worst_ part was that in the years after, when I clearly didn't become a mage, he was _proud_ of himself. He bragged to all his friends about how he'd prevented my magic formation because of that damn book."

"I'm so-,"

She untangled herself from him, leaping up and not facing him, hands on her hips before she crossed her arms. “No,” she began shakily. “No, it’s fine. It’s really…” 

He shot up, fists clenched. “It’s _not_ fine. It’s barbaric. If I ever came across the men that did that you I would-,” 

“It was many years ago,” she insisted. “And only a few times.” 

Cullen strode over to her. “It happened more than once?” 

“I…” She bit her lip. “I mean, yes.” 

He stood paralyzed while his stomach churned—he felt sick, but his skin crawled most of all because he thought he knew all the bad the Templars had done, but apparently men with power could cause damage without limit. 

“Katria…” he said gently. 

Her shoulders rose and she stepped away. “Cullen, _don’t_ ,” she ordered. “Don’t have that sympathy for me. Don’t act like what I did suddenly makes sense. A handful of Templars and my father being shitty people does not _justify_ what I did to the others.”

“You were a child,” he said. 

“It doesn’t matter!” she replied angrily, spinning to him. “I spent fifteen years doing more damage than they ever did to me.” 

“It doesn’t work that way,” he protested. “What happened to you stays, and it’s not measurable.”

She covered her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I don’t…” 

Cullen shuffled forward, then wrapped an arm around her waist. She curled back up to his chest and sighed. 

“So…that was the nightmare,” Katria said.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know it’s…” He tightened his grip. “I know the nightmares ruin everything. They make you think that despite all the good memories you’ve made since then, nothing will ever make the bad go away. The fear feels just as fresh each time.”

She nodded numbly. “It does.”

He dipped his head down. “Katria, you…you’re not alone this time and those nightmares don’t define your life.”

She was silent, and he was afraid he’d said the wrong thing, until she craned her neck back. “That might be…exactly what I needed to hear.” 

“I-,” He cleared his throat. “Um, good.” 

She pulled back slightly and peered down at the water pooled around their feet. “Sorry about the mess. I...the copper tub just reminded…” 

“I know, I know,” he said. “It’s okay.” 

Katria pressed back against him, breathing evenly in his arms, and he squeezed her, probably too tightly because what else was he supposed to do? Nothing would erase those memories, or her anger—he knew that for a fact because it had happened to him. It was just a matter of learning to live with it. And maybe he hadn’t even done that yet. 

Cullen thought back to how much he’d despised Katria in Kirkwall. Those feelings had lingered, even existed when she’d first joined the Inquisition. He’d solidified this image in his mind of a spiteful and malicious woman doing evil for evil’s sake, except the reality was that she was wounded just like him. Badly, and now he was trapped because the physical desire he had for her was joined by something entirely different. Something warm and compassionate and desperate for the companionship of someone just like him. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Katria, I’m so…” 

“Don’t be sorry,” she mumbled. “For real this time. It’s not your fault. I feel…a little better, thanks to you.”

Cullen raised his hand to her hair. “That’s all I want.” 

“For me to feel better?” 

He thought of a few things to say, the first being: no. I want _you_. 

The other options weren’t exactly coherent, so he cleared his throat and only said yes. 

Except that might have been the wrong reply because he felt her stiffen—the reluctance rolled through her. Sudden realizations about how close they were, what she had told him. A shaky breath ruffled the fabric of his tunic and she leaned back. 

“Cullen, I shouldn’t…” 

Panic shot through him and before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed onto her, cupping her face in his palms. 

“No,” he said hastily. “It’s not _shouldn’t_. You should if you want to because you deserve to be happy despite what happened before.”

She was not looking at him, her lips pursed white. A minute must have ticked by, and his hope slipped further and further from his grasp. She swallowed. 

“I didn’t sleep with Hawke.” 

He leaned forward slightly and his thumb caressed the scar across her cheek. 

“Good,” he said. “I was very jealous of him.” 

Katria gave a weak laugh and her lip drew up in a smile; it warmed him immensely to see her sadness break just a little. 

Cullen drew her closer, letting her hair tickle his cheeks as she tilted her head. Her brow rose, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, he felt the cool touch of her fingers against his arm. 

He wanted to kiss her so badly he felt an ache in his chest; an intense, trembling _need_ that surely would be better if only he closed the space between them. 

Instead, the front of Katria’s tent was thrown open, and she jerked away just as someone spoke. 

“Commander, there’s a big problem with-,” 

The messenger a few feet from them stopped, jaw slightly unhinged. In the back of his mind, Cullen knew that this young man had rushed into this tent because something was wrong. Something urgent, probably. The messenger had been told that Commander Cullen disappeared into Scout Trevelyan’s tent, and pursued him because he was needed to do his job. And yet his anger completely overrode that logical thought, and he scowled. 

“Get _out_!” he growled, and the messenger staggered backwards with a profuse number of apologies. 

Once he disappeared, Cullen tried to turn back to Katria, but she put her hand on his chest. “You need to go,” she said. “It’s—it’s better if you go.” 

“I won’t leave if you’re not okay,” he replied. 

“Cullen that shouldn’t be your concern right now,” she protested.

He grabbed her hand. “Well it is. And I want—this can…” He wanted to tell her that this could _work_. That if she let herself trust him, he would never betray her. He doubted that was something she wanted to hear right now, though, so he trailed off. 

Katria lifted her eyes to his and gave a wan smile. “Thanks for…being here.” 

He hesitated, then pressed his lips briefly to the center of her palm. “I always will be.” He dropped her hand. “If you want,” he added sheepishly. 

“Go to work, Commander,” Katria said. 

Cullen backtracked with his hand against his neck. “I—yes. But later, we should maybe…probably…” He dropped his arm awkwardly to his side. “Goodbye, Katria.” 

She only waved to him before the flap of her tent fluttered closed and she disappeared from his view. 

===

There was a lull in Cullen’s work hours after he had seen Katria in her tent. He’d desperately wished for a break sooner, not just because he wanted to talk to her, but because his head was killing him and he was far past the point of exhaustion. 

When he arrived at her tent, Katria was not there. The flap was clipped back, and only an Inquisition messenger was inside. Luckily not the one he had snapped at earlier, though he probably owed whoever that was an apology.

“Where is Scout Trevelyan?” Cullen asked. 

The young woman turned. “She left early for the Emprise du Lion. The Inquisitor is departing within the week, and Trevelyan volunteered to scout ahead.” 

Cullen deflated. Was he surprised? Of course not. Disappointed maybe, but Katria clearly experienced some massive trauma and only wanted to escape from it. He did not blame her. He just hoped she would talk to him upon her return. He was tired of pretending he didn’t want to be with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katria's experiences are based on a [codex entry](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Superstitions) found in the Emerald Graves.
> 
> I know this wasn't celebration or post-Adamant sex, but hopefully their conversation was an equally interesting replacement!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting!

The Emprise du Lion proved to be a barren, miserable wasteland that did not provide Katria with the distraction she needed. Of course, that could have more to do with the magnitude of events that had occurred with Cullen—she could probably be anywhere and still think of his distractingly handsome face, the way he held her so tightly, desperate to show his affection when he didn’t have the right words.

And it had actually helped. She hated that. She wanted to be mad at herself for sharing that story with him; it was not something he needed to know, and yet she’d confided in him anyway. Then the words he’d said and the way he held her made it better. It was no solution, obviously. She had the same nightmare each time she laid her head down on her bedroll on her way to the Emprise du Lion. But still Cullen’s words had soothed her.

So she left. Because she didn’t want to be around Cullen. Because she didn’t want to be beside the castle where she’d physically entered the Fade a single moment longer. Plenty of sound, logical reasons to depart the Western Approach without saying goodbye. 

The prospect of facing him made her a little queasy. To be so vulnerable, even if she was certain as to his feelings. 

That anxiety only worsened when she come across letters in the Sahrnia mine written by Samson. Ones that mentioned Maddox. Katria was shocked to see his name. Relieved he was alive. Reminded of what Cullen had done to him. Or perhaps what Cullen had allowed to happen to him. 

She tried to push down those unfortunate feelings—all of them. The admiration now tainted by such visceral reminders of the anger she had for Cullen. Maker, she did not want to acknowledge any of it. 

They spent two long months in the Emprise. Upon their return to Skyhold, Katria planned to retreat to her room, but she instead had Samson’s letters shoved in her hands to deliver to Cullen while Ellana was rushed to Josephine’s office. A messenger had been waiting for them at the portcullis and said Josie’s business with the Inquisitor was urgent.

So Katria hiked up the battlements, then hovered outside Cullen’s door until she had the courage to open it. 

He was at his desk, trying so clearly to look nonchalant when she knew he must have seen them arrive from afar. He straightened and turned, his hand immediately drawn to his neck. 

“Oh, Trev—um, Katria. Hi.” 

Katria strode over to his desk, but stayed on one side of it, as much as she wanted to throw her arms around that silly ring of fur on his shoulders. 

“I came to deliver the letters Ellana found in the mine,” she said. 

His eyes widened slightly. A slant of light from his window fell across his face, and she reminded herself not to be distracted by the line of his cheekbone. “You’re not here to….” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t want the letters?” 

“No, I do,” he said. “But—are you alright? You left so abruptly at Adamant and-,” 

“I’m fine,” she interjected. “Really.” 

She scrutinized him because Cullen was not supposed to be asking about her well-being when they could talk about business instead. Cullen always talked about business first.  
He walked around his desk to stand in front of her. “If you ever want to…talk about it, I could, I mean— _we_ could…” 

“Thank you,” Katria said, then smiled slightly. “Now surely you want to look at these letters.” 

Cullen’s brow immediately lowered, lip curled in anger. 

“I do,” he said. “Ellana’s correspondence mentioned them. What Samson did to the people there is monstrous.” 

She placed the letters on his desk. “He won’t continue to hurt them. Not in that mine.” 

“We must _completely_ put an end to Samson,” Cullen replied. 

The muscles in her jaw tightened, and she looked away. “The letters mention Maddox.” 

He was silent for a moment. “Maddox?” he began. “From Kirkwall?” 

“I think so,” she said. “Do you—what happened to him before you left? He was still in the Circle, right?” 

Cullen shifted, his armor clanking in the suddenly much drearier silence. “Yes,” he said. “But when the mages rebelled, the worst battles took place at the Gallows, in the Circle itself. I thought…Maddox had died in the fight. Or was eking out a living on the streets.” 

“A hard fate for someone made Tranquil over a few love letters,” Katria remarked, as she crossed her arms. 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t understand what Maddox is doing with Samson. He must be maintaining that armor he wears.” 

“Samson probably saved Maddox,” Katria replied. She bowed her head. “After all that time, Samson still cared about him. Even though helping him ruined his life the first time.” 

“I can’t believe you would say that after seeing what he did to the villagers in the Emprise,” Cullen said. 

She met his hard gaze. “Perhaps there’s something left of the man Samson used to be.” 

“Or he’s shrewd enough to know an extraordinary resource,” Cullen shot back quickly. 

Katria scowled. “It amazes me that you can’t acknowledge that Samson is not pure evil. Considering _you_ were the one who ruined his life.” 

He threw his hand out. “Oh, come on, Katria, I thought we were past this.” 

“Did you?” she demanded. “Did you really think that because we didn’t talk about it, everything was fine?” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked. “We could-,” 

“No,” she cut in hastily. “No, I do not want to _talk_.” 

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, staring up with a frustrated look. 

“Don’t be an arse.” 

“Me?” he said. “I’m the arse? Coming from the woman who-,” 

She made a disgusted noise. “Yes, please finish your sentence with some colorful analogy for my emotional incompetence.” 

“Well at least we can both agree you are _that_.” 

Katria pushed the letters closer to him. “You’re right,” she said. “So why don’t you take these letters and use your emotional competence to acknowledge that you fucked up Samson’s life and are somehow mad at _him_ for it.” 

She pivoted on her heel, but immediately heard the click of Cullen’s boots against the stone floor. His hand circled her arm to stop her. 

“Please wait,” he said.

She glared at him. “I swear to the Maker if you _apologize_ …” 

Cullen leaned towards her. “I know this is complicated.”

“It doesn’t _have_ to be,” she snapped. 

“Well, Katria I’m sorry but that’s not the reality of the situation,” he said. “Or—for me, at least.” 

She exhaled sharply through her nose as she pried herself from his grasp. Her reality clearly had less of the truth than she thought. Because of Cullen and his nonsensical feelings. “What is it you want?” she asked. 

He was silent for a few moments, and his brow puckered. “I don’t know,” he said. 

Katria just snorted. 

Cullen stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Listen, I’m not—under any illusions about our past or the disagreements-,” 

“Really?” she began incredulously. “You’re not under any illusions and yet you try-,” 

“I _care for you_ ,” Cullen cut in—there was force to his words. “It matters to me what happens to you, and I don’t like to see you in pain.” 

Katria swallowed. She couldn’t remember the last time a person had said something like that to her. Certainly not in a romantic sense. If Cullen even meant it that way. The unfamiliar warmth in her chest made her recoil slightly. 

“Maker,” she muttered. Her eyes rose to his—and she considered it. Considered telling him the truth, or at least how she felt, even if she couldn’t quite figure it out. That she, too, cared about what happened to him, and hated to see him in pain. Hated to think that she caused him pain by being so incompetent. 

The door behind them clattered against the wall as it opened, and she saw Cullen scowl before she turned. 

“What?” he said irritably, but the messenger strode up to her instead. 

“Sister Nightingale asks that you report to the Inquisitor’s quarters,” the woman said. 

“Why?” Katria asked.

“She did not say,” she replied, then pulled a piece of parchment from her belt. “She did request I give you this copy of some correspondence the Inquisitor received.” 

“Thank you,” Katria replied after accepting it. The messenger disappeared as she broke the seal on the letter. 

“Is everything alright?” Cullen asked, sounding only mildly annoyed. 

“I don’t know,” Katria said. “This letter isn’t even for me. It’s for Josephine from some Duke in Orlais. It…” Her brow arched inward as she trailed off. 

She heard Cullen say her name and move in closer behind her to peer over her shoulder. Her nose caught the scent of his metal polish, some other enticing masculine scent that she wanted to ignore.

“This is why Josephine wanted to speak to Ellana immediately,” Katria eventually said, lips pursed white. “The forces the Duke sent to help her clan from those bandits came….too late.” She tried to soothe the wrinkles in the letter more and read it out loud. “'By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been…scattered or killed'.” 

Cullen’s breath ruffled her hair. “Maker, that’s….” 

“Damn it,” Katria snapped. “I’m here blathering about my feelings when Ellana needs me, and…” She crumpled the letter in her hand. “ _Fuck_. What am I even supposed to say? I don’t know how to…” 

He put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s not about what you say. If she wants you to be there, and you are, then it will help.” 

“Not help much,” she murmured. “This is… _bad_. Her family is dead.” 

His fingers tightened their grip in a reassuring squeeze before she turned. “I should go,” she said. 

Cullen’s hand slid from her. “I—if you or Ellana need anything, I can…I’m here.” He rubbed his neck again. "And I want to continue our conversation later. It's important to me."

“I-- _fine_ ,” she said with an impatient noise. “Maybe.” She raised her hand to his breastplate and awkwardly patted it. She did not know what she dreaded more, staying with Cullen to talk or having to face the realities of what had happened with Ellana. 

Katria left his office and crossed the battlements to the Great Hall. When she reached the door to Ellana’s room, it was locked. 

She knocked firmly on the door twice. “Ellana,” she called. “Do…are you…” She bowed her head because fuck was she bad at this. 

There was no reply to her rambling of course. That was not too much of a problem for Katria because she merely reached into her jacket and pulled out her lock-picking kit. It took a few minutes, but eventually the door clicked and creaked open. 

She climbed up a few of the steps. “Ellana?” she called again. “I will leave if you want. I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Katria crested the stairs. Ellana was not in her room; instead, she was on her balcony, sitting on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest. The air was bitterly cold, but she was only wearing her breeches and tunic. 

Katria crept over to her, and Ellana finally turned her head, eyes bloodshot. “Okay?” she began, voice broken. “You want to know if I’m _okay_?” 

She sighed and sat down, the stone cold even through her clothes. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not okay.” 

Her small hands drifted up to her face, covering it. “I-I don’t understand how…they’re all _gone_ and…” She gave a small sob. “It’s all my fault!” 

“Ellana, no,” she said gently, and then reached out with one arm. “It’s not.” 

Ellana recoiled from her and slapped her hand away. “That’s—stop it!” she exclaimed, falling from her sitting position and leaning away. “I don’t need stupid comforting _lies_! It is my fault. I’m the Inquisitor. They were targeted because of _me_ , and even though I have spent so much time protecting other people, I couldn’t protect _them_!”

“I know,” Katria said. “I know you’re angry and you have every right to be.” 

Ellana had one palm flat against the ground with her face still hidden. “It’s not fair,” she whispered hoarsely. “After…after all this, a-and it just hasn’t gotten better. It’s gotten worse.” 

“I know-,” 

“No, you don’t know!” Ellana snapped. “You don’t get it!” 

Katria was quiet after that, head bowed slightly as she sat. Perhaps she never should have come at all. Ellana exhaled in the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t mean to snap.” 

Katria waved her hand dismissively. “You shouldn’t apologize—not at all. Especially to me.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I was angry at your age, too. Scared.”

Ellana swallowed. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I-I always…” She buried her face in her hands. “I promised myself that when all this craziness was over, I’d return home to my family, and now….” 

Katria put her hand between Ellana’s shoulder blades. There was little she could think of to say. Instead of jerking away, Ellana leaned closer, fists clenched. 

“Leliana swears she will be able to track down the bandits. She thinks it’s odd that the Duke did not reach them in time. I will punish those responsible. They will pay.” 

“I’ll help you however I can,” Katria replied. 

Ellana threw her hands up. “Like it will make any difference,” she said, her words choked. “It won’t bring them back. It won’t make anything better.” 

Katria rested their heads together. “It won’t,” she agreed, though it had taken her almost ten years to learn that. 

Ellana turned to her, curling up to her chest under her chin. Her body was racked with more sobs as the minutes passed by, and Katria held her tight. She whispered I’m sorry as many times as she could, knowing that it didn’t help. 

Ellana tried to wipe her tears with her hands. “Once e-everyone finds out, they’ll be so much… _sympathy_.” 

She nodded. “True. Lots of very sad eyes and pats on the shoulder,” she said. “It’s…the fucking worst.” 

Ellana gave a short, teary laugh. “More to look forward to,” she muttered. “Solas will show up, too. Try to be comforting.” 

Katria smiled slightly. “He might be a little better at it than me, but just remember who has the nicer hair. Or any hair.” 

Ellana shivered as a gust of wind swept across the balcony and made the doors shudder. 

“You should come inside,” Katria said. 

“I—I kind of like the cold.”

Katria squeezed her. “The numbness, you mean.” 

“Maybe,” she said. “It hasn’t…sunk in yet.” 

“It won’t for a while,” Katria replied. “Or it will in waves.” Her chest expanded as she sighed. “I promise I’ll be here for all of it. I—my promise doesn’t mean much considering my track record with…everyone, but…” 

“You give yourself too little credit,” Ellana said. 

Katria snorted. “I doubt that.” 

They sat a little longer on the balcony, in the cold, watching the sun sink past the battlements. Katria knew she hadn’t helped much—what could she do? Express condolences? Stroke her hair? Ellana had hardly processed what had happened, and it wasn’t going to improve until then. That could take months. Years. 

Ellana fell asleep eventually—to escape her despair, though the nightmares she’d had since Adamant would probably chase her again. Or maybe Solas would visit her in the Fade and provide some comfort. Not that he even deserved to be in her presence after what he’d done. 

Katria left Ellana’s room after leaving a tray of food and tea. She dragged her bags to her room, but didn’t bother unpacking her things. Ellana had decided to leave for Val Royeaux the next day to investigate Blackwall's disappearance. Katria had a sinking feeling about the Warden's abrupt departure, but she still hoped it didn't lead to anymore betrayal that she wondered if Ellana could even handle.

Katria empathized with Ellana's desire to leave Skyhold—it was a means to distract herself. Considering the weight of responsibilities on her as Inquisitor there were plenty of ways to practice such avoidance techniques. Katria was an expert at those. A fact Cullen was acutely aware of.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW (ish).

Ellana did not need another blow to her already fragile state, and yet she got one. Val Royeaux was not a refuge from the horror of losing her family. Once they discovered where Blackwall had disappeared to, he proved to be another iteration of betrayal. More ugliness on Ellana’s innocent canvas.

Katria was inclined to forgive Blackwall—she understood his desire to atone even though his crime was heinous, but that did not lessen the toll on Ellana. She had put her trust in him as a Warden, and he had mislead them all. It seemed as if at every turn people were letting her down. 

Katria was powerless to fix that. She could only sit beside her and try to be comforting or nod when she felt it was necessary. It was disheartening, to say the least. 

When she wasn’t worrying about Ellana—worrying that she was letting yet another person down—she thought of Cullen. Maybe she followed Ellana to Val Royeaux because she was running away, too. From the absurdity of Cullen’s proclamation. He said he cared for her. As if he even understood what that meant. 

Ellana could not avoid her duties forever, and they returned to Skyhold. They arrived at sundown, and instead of finding solace in the tavern, Katria went to the battlements. She would be needled about Ellana’s well-being anywhere else, and the walls of the castle were cold and dark. They provided solitude save for the occasional passing soldier. 

Maybe she was a little too close to Cullen’s office. Maybe he opened his door late at night, and instead of walking down the stairs, he passed them to reach her. 

Katria kept her eyes ahead, hands clasped and elbows rested along the parapet. 

“How’s Ellana?” he asked. 

She dipped her head down and sighed. “You know the answer to that question.” 

“You’re right,” he said, then leaned beside her also facing ahead. “Though I thought…” 

Katria raked her fingers through her hair. “Bad things like this aren’t supposed to happen to people like Ellana or—or…” Or _Clara_. Nice, well-intentioned young women who were gutted by the world around them for no apparent reason. 

“I never thought when we asked Ellana to be the Inquisitor that all of this would happen,” Cullen remarked. 

“It’s too much,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

“Neither do I,” he replied. “Do you think—I mean, will she be alright?” 

Katria shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Leliana sent word that the leader of the men who attacked her clan had been found. He’s being brought to Skyhold for judgment and that seemed to improve her mood. But after what happened with Blackwall…” 

Cullen just made a disgusted noise, a scowl plain on his face. “What he did was unforgiveable.” 

“Some people might say that about what we’ve done,” she said. 

He shifted, body leaning more against the battlements. “It’s different.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “You always say that, but-,” 

Cullen turned towards her. “Did it ever occur to you that I came out here to enjoy your company because I missed you? Not because I wanted to have some sort of argument?” 

She tucked one arm under the other. “You didn’t miss me.” 

“I think I should be the judge of that.” 

Katria just grunted in reply, until a strong gale sent a burst of cold down her back. She shivered and tried to pull her jacket closer around her. 

“Come to my office,” he said. “It’s warmer.” 

“I should just go back to my room,” she replied, looking away from him because if she didn’t a _yes_ would come too quickly. 

Cullen was uncharacteristically still, like he was trying to hold himself together in some stoic state that did not allow his disappointment to leak through. 

“Alright.” 

She heard his boots scraping against the stone beneath them, and only the sadness she’d heard in his voice stayed with her. Worming its way into whatever sliver of compassion she had left. 

“I—,” She made a frustrated noise and scurried after him until they were walking beside one another. Cullen raised his brow in surprise, but said nothing as he opened the door for her.

His desk was more of a cluttered mess than usual; a servant had delivered a tray of food and tea that sat mostly neglected to one side. Beside that was a substantial pile of scrolls. Various half-finished letters were scattered in the remaining space. 

“You’ve been busy,” she remarked. 

“Very,” he said, though he did not look at his desk like she did. 

She turned and dropped her hands from where they were clenching the flaps of her jacket. “You can say what you wanted to before, and then I’ll leave.”

“What do you mean?” he asked from a respectable distance. 

Katria pushed her hair behind her ear. “You said you wanted to continue our conversation—the one we had before I left for Val Royeaux.” 

Cullen bowed his head and then rested his hand on his sword. “It’s occurred to me it’s a fool’s errand to try and get anything out of you.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

He rubbed his neck, then let it flop to his side in a defeated gesture. “You’re not—going to talk to me. I get it. I shouldn’t push so hard.” 

“Oh,” she said. Maker, disappointment was overtaking her again—the same disappointment she’d felt when she had ended their previous arrangement and he hadn’t protested. How childish it was to push him away just to feel the rush of him fighting for her. Though maybe she was also still scared that more pain would come to him from this. 

“I understand your reluctance,” he said. “I’m-,” 

“It’s not you,” she interrupted abruptly. “You’re…” She wet her lips. “You’re—fine, I guess. I mean… _Maker_ …”

“You once hated me very much, so I suppose fine is an improvement,” he said. 

She smiled slightly and gave a huff of a laugh. “I didn’t—I just couldn’t think of anything to say.” 

Cullen stepped closer to her, wringing his hands. The nearer he was the more her heart-rate soared. She could feel her muscles tensing, paralyzed because she could not move, but wanted to feel his touch so badly. 

He looked at her, brown eyes dim in the candlelight, yet his affection could not be clearer to her. 

“I’m not saying I understand this myself, but-,” 

Katria pitched forward and wove her fingers into the fur of his coat. It gave her enough leverage to yank him forward until his lips crashed onto hers. The feeling of kissing him, no matter how messily, was nothing sort of elation. 

She pushed up onto her toes and pressed firmly with her mouth until he gave in—his body underneath all that armor lost tension and he wrapped himself like a vine around her, shoving her up against the desk while his tongue dipped into her mouth with a desperation that told her he had missed this as much as she had. 

His breastplate was cold and unforgiving as he pressed them together. She ran one hand across it, though had zero ability to surrender it from him. Her other fingers dragged down from his hairline along his neck. As soon as she’d positioned herself in just the right place—his thigh sliding up between her legs as she was pinned between him and the desk, he pulled away. 

Cullen’s hands moved to cup her face as he frowned, his breath coming hot out of his nose. “You’re trying to change the subject.” 

“I suppose if the subject is sex than I am,” she replied. Her hand rested along the outside of his thigh just below his rear. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

He huffed. “Have you been listening to what I’ve been saying at all?” 

“Well perhaps I’d be less distracted if you weren’t so handsome,” she said with a grin. 

Cullen scrutinized her with a weary gaze, then dropped his hands from her face. Instead of pulling back, he leaned forward with his palms flat against the desk behind her. “You are _so_ …” He shook his head. “There is nothing _endearing_ about this, you know.” 

“I have never claimed to have any positive qualities whatsoever,” Katria pointed out. “Unless you count having sex, which I would be happy to demonstrate for you if you’d…” She rested her hand against his chest. “Stop _talking_.” 

“I…” He trailed off, then rubbed his temple that looked raw, like he’d been doing that all evening. An expression of pain flashed across his face before his lips inched closer and barely caressed hers. The contact made shivers shoot down her spine, and she instinctively leaned closer. 

“Sometimes I hate the way I feel around you,” he whispered. 

Her brow arched in. “Cullen-,” 

“I lose control,” he said. “I waste my time chasing a woman who sees me as nothing more than a handsome piece of meat and-,” 

Katria caged his face in her hands and kissed him hard, in some frantic impulse that ripped through her because his words hurt, made the joke on her lips turn to ash, brought the hot prickle of tears to her eyes. 

She pulled from him with a broken breath. “That’s not _true_ ,” she choked out. 

“What is then?” he asked, voice wobbling on his final word. 

Her thumbs slid firm across his cheekbones, other fingers buried in his hair. “I don’t know, Cullen,” she said. “I think about you when I leave Skyhold. I would care if you died. I care about your health. I care when you walk into a room and when you smile and when I see the light from your office late at night.” 

She kissed him again, tilting her head close enough to feel her eyelashes tickle the skin on his cheeks. 

“Please don’t make me say anymore,” she murmured, sounding miserable. “This won’t _work_.” 

Cullen pushed her hair from where it hung in front of her face. “Come upstairs with me.”

“I don’t— _stay_ with people, Cullen,” she said. 

“Please,” he whispered before he planted a kiss on her jaw. 

“I only promise to follow you up the ladder,” she replied, and his brow dropped in disappointment, yet he took her hand anyway and pulled her across the room. 

He paused in front of the ladder, then ascended it. Katria followed him once he’d cleared the top. She could feel the blood pumping in her hands as she grasped each rung and hoisted herself up. 

Cullen was surrendering his gloves, jacket, greaves, and finally pulling his breastplate over his head. She watched as he rubbed his temple again with a grimace. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

“Fine,” he said shortly as he strode over. He had his strong arms around her after that, kissing her neck and lowering them both slowly onto the bed. The feeling of his warm body against hers fanned some powerful desire in her core, and she smashed their lips together. 

His hand rose to her breast, rolling his finger across her nipple over the rough fabric of her shirt and making some feeble whimper escape from the space between their kisses. 

Katria put her hands on his hips and then ran her fingers up underneath his shirt. The muscles in his shoulders flexed under her palms as he shifted his weight. 

She rubbed herself against him with a few short gasps before she decided she needed to be touching more of him. Her fingers scrambled down and yanked at the strings of his breeches. She reached inside, wrapping her hand around his warm—

Well. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, as he jerked back, though a wince left him at the sudden movement. 

Katria withdrew her hand from his cock which in that moment could really only be described as…squishy? The very opposite of hard. 

“Cul-,” 

“I’m fine,” he interrupted tersely. “It’s—I’m— _ah_.” His palm rose to his temple, one blood vessel clearly visible and pulsing under the sweat gathered there. 

Katria sat up on her elbows. “You have a headache.” 

“I’m fine,” he insisted again. “We can continue. I just need a few more minutes so it’s nothing to-,” 

“Cullen, please just tell me what’s wrong.” 

He sat there on his knees for a few moments, breathing deeply through his nose. His jaw was set in an angry expression before he sighed. 

“I have a headache,” he said. “I’ve had it since the morning, and I’ve spent the last few hours writing letters to…to the families of the soldiers we lost at Adamant. It’s….distracting me.” His gaze quickly flicked up to her. “If you just give me-,” 

Katria sat up completely. “It’s okay.” 

He made an exasperated sound. “But I _want to_ -,” 

“Well, I don’t,” she said as she leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Cullen, I’m not the kind of woman who demands sex from a man with a splitting headache and a heavy conscious.” She shrugged. “You had a tough day. No big deal. It happens.” 

“It’s embarrassing,” he muttered. 

“Yes, and so is the fact that day after day you choose to don that hideous fur jacket in public,” Katria replied. She moved to scoot back on the bed to the headboard.  
He snorted. “If I had a sovereign for every time you made a joke about my armor-,” 

“You’d have enough money to fix the hole in your roof,” she finished. “Now come here.” 

Cullen cocked an eyebrow. “Come here?” 

She nodded and waved him over. He scooted across the bed until he was beside her, then she brought his head down to rest against her chest. 

He stiffened. “Oh, um-,” 

“Just—relax,” she said and felt his body unraveling against her, one arm around her waist. “I’ll stay for a little while.” 

“You don’t have to,” he replied, then made a low humming noise when she raked her fingers through his hair. “I like that.” 

“Most people do,” she said. “A way I can soothe without saying words.” She lifted her hand and inspected her fingernails. “Although what is this crap you have in your hair? Do you style it or-,” 

“I don’t—I wouldn’t call it _style_ ,” he said defensively. “You can stop if-,”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Whatever you use smells nice.” 

Cullen shifted. “Just…try not to share such information so broadly, alright?” 

Katria chuckled. “I can’t make any promises.” 

He just sighed, the air traveling across her chest and making one flap of her tunic at the collar fall back. She slumped against the headboard to get more comfortable, then rested her cheek on the top of his head while her hand stroked his hair. 

“Did you write all those letters yourself?” she asked. 

Cullen nodded. “I did. I just—want to get them right. I understand the cost of war, but I’m meant to protect these men, and thinking that their loved ones have lost them. I…” 

She lowered her hand to briefly rub his back. There was no part of her that wanted to leave this man. Who put such terrible burdens on himself in an effort to be righteous. Who spent his entire day writing letters about dead friends, soldiers, because he believed it was his responsibility alone. All the while he still suffered so acutely from withdrawal. 

“Those men were proud to serve you, Cullen,” she said softly. “You have proven time and again that you are the best at protecting us and the rest of Thedas.” 

“We’ve not faced Corypheus directly,” he replied. “Don’t exalt me as the commander just yet.” 

“Corypheus doesn’t stand a chance against us,” Katria said. “Ellana is stronger than even she knows, and so are you.” 

Cullen was silent, eyes shut as her fingers drew lazy lines in his hair. 

“What’s your plan when this all ends?” he asked. 

Katria shrugged. “I will have repaid my debt to the Inquisition, I suppose,” she began. “But I…don’t know. I’m not the kind of person that likes to stay in one place for long.” 

“Maybe you just…need to find the right place,” he said. 

She smiled slightly against the crown of his head. “The longer I remain somewhere, the higher the chance I’ll fuck something up. I’d hate for that to happen here.” 

Cullen tightened his grip on her waist. “Katria, you are far too complex of a woman to think that all you are capable of is causing destruction.” 

“I’m also very good at being a disappointment,” she pointed out. 

His chest expanded against her as he snorted. “Maker, if you could only see…” 

Katria buried her nose in his hair. “You should get some rest.” 

“You’re changing the subject again,” he said. 

“But with sleep this time,” she replied. “Which you are in desperate need of.” 

“Perhaps,” he admitted, as his chest sloped down more against her. She sat with him a few more minutes, watching the shadows of the leaves above the roof dance across his bed. 

“If you leave before I wake up, that’s—alright,” he whispered. 

“Goodnight, Cullen,” she said back to him, drawing her free hand across her chest to put it on his back. 

His breathing eventually slowed to a languid cadence, and his head drooped further against her chest. He fell asleep in her arms, then she did the same in his. 

===

Katria awoke to a vice-like grip around her waist; a hold that pushed the air from her lungs. Her eyes snapped open. 

“No— _leave me_.” 

Cullen jerked violently as he woke. His arms tightened around her one last time as a frightened gasp left him, making her wince, before he shot up and backwards. 

“What-,” He drank in a long breath. “Katria?” 

“I’m here,” she said. “Are you okay?” 

Cullen hesitantly leaned back against the headboard. “I-I’m fine.” His head lifted. “Oh Maker, did I hurt you?” 

“No, no,” she insisted. “You squeezed me but it’s-,” 

Cullen leaned towards her, expression distraught. “I’m sorry. Katria, I am _so_ sorry.” 

She touched his face. “Stop. It’s okay.” 

He sighed and rested back. Katria looked up through the roof—more time had passed than she intended. Hours. In bed with him. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” she asked. 

Cullen nodded. “They usually are. They’re worse without the lyrium.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

“Nothing for you to apologize for.” He paused and looked over at her. “I—I haven’t told many people what I dream about. Except Ellana. And it was only because—well, I thought the Inquisitor should know the full story.” 

Her browed furrowed. “The full story?” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “I, uh—I was stationed in Ferelden’s Circle Tower during the Blight.” 

Katria leaned so their shoulders were pressed together. She had passed along the north side of Lake Calenhad when she first arrived in Ferelden, where that Circle was. 

“It was taken over by abominations,” she said. 

“It was,” Cullen replied. “I was trapped inside then.” 

“You were-,” She stopped and pursed her lips. Trapped inside. By abominations—demons. The kind who would torture a young Templar like Cullen. 

He rubbed his temple again. “I’m sure you’re aware it was not a pleasant experience.” 

“I...” She reached out and touched his thigh. “Yes.” 

Not pleasant was a poor way to describe it. Unconscionable, maybe. Harrowing. 

“They tried to break my mind,” he said; his voice was low, numb even. “Slaughtered my friends right before my eyes. It was—I wasn’t the same person after that.” His hand covered hers, and he swallowed. “They sent me to Kirkwall. I was miserable, and my anger blinded me.” 

“Oh, Cullen,” she said softly. She looped her arms around his neck. 

He turned his head and was close enough her nose brushed his. “I know there’s no excuse for my actions in Kirkwall, but—I am not proud of the man all that made me. The man who did those things to you all those years ago. The Inquisition was my chance to leave that life behind.” 

“I suppose I didn’t make that easy for you,” she remarked. 

He slid his hand across her waist. “Justifiably, I think.” 

Katria nestled her head in the crook of his neck. They sat without talking for a while, and she listened to his heart beating faster than it should in his chest. She held him tighter, except that she couldn’t squeeze the pain out of him. 

She let out a long breath. “Why did the world do this to us, Cullen?” 

He put his other arm around her. “I asked myself that a lot. I wish I had an answer for you.” 

“There’s not one,” she murmured. She bunched the fabric of his tunic between her fingers. “I—it means a lot that you told me about the Circle.” 

It meant more than anything, really. That he would share such painful memories because that’s how bad he wanted her to truly know him. 

“I wanted you to know,” he said simply. “I thought you would…understand more than anyone.” 

She only nodded against him. “You should get some rest,” she eventually said. 

Cullen propped himself up a little higher and slid his palm along her jaw. He looked down at her, searching her face for _something_ in the darkness, though she didn’t know what. 

“Alright,” he said. 

She smiled at him. “It’ll be good for you.” 

Cullen nodded, but did not move. He cleared his throat, brow furrowed. 

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?” 

She gave a soft laugh, instinctively thinking it was an absurd question because he’d kissed her plenty of times. Done much more inappropriate things than that, even. 

Then, it occurred to her that if he kissed her now it would be…for nothing. Everything they did was meant to be a vehicle to sex. A contribution to their agreement, but never an end in itself. 

A kiss in this moment, one that didn’t lead to anything else, would be purely a sign of affection. 

Katria hastily shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind—she was overthinking things, clearly. She attempted a nonchalant shrug and a grin. “If you’d like.”

Cullen’s thumb brushed her lower lip before his mouth found hers. He was not rough; it was not a crushing or bruising kiss. Still, she felt tingles all the way down her toes and snaked her arm around his back. 

Katria pulled his head down with her fingers in his hair, lips pressing harder. His mouth slowly opened, tongue teasing and making her groan softly. 

She thought he might go further after a few moments, but instead he pulled away, eyes fluttering open. His lip ticked up in a small smile. 

“Katria.” 

There was an intensity in his gaze that melted her insides. “Y-You should go to sleep,” she managed to stammer out. “It’s late and—just, rest is good.” 

“I could say the same for you,” he replied, as he reached for the rumpled bed sheets at their feet. 

Katria lowered her hands to the mattress, clenching her fingers nervously. 

Cullen noticed, of course. “You don’t have to stay,” he said softly. “I’d like you to.” 

This is the part where she ran away. Ran far away to the tavern because Cullen would only be disappointed by her in the end. 

He was laying on his back, one hand behind his head looking up at her. She bit her lip. 

“I…don’t want you to be alone if you have another nightmare,” she said. 

Katria flopped down beside him a little clumsily—in one swift motion because she was afraid to hesitate. She tried to ignore the fact that she took a deep breath to smell his chest when she laid her head down. 

Cullen squeezed her probably a little too tightly in return. She wrenched her eyes shut in the silence. 

“This is weird,” she muttered. How in the Void was she supposed to navigate this kind of intimacy? 

“It’s nice,” he insisted. 

“For now,” she said. “Just—go to sleep.” 

He closed his eyes and made a shallow humming noise. “Goodnight, Katria.” 

She pulled his blanket further over her and bundled it beneath her chin. It was under consideration for her to leave once she knew he was asleep. He would not be surprised if when he woke up, she was gone. 

Nothing was different between them—or maybe some things were. She did not want to think about them. If laying here really meant she’d consented to some sort of romantic connection, Cullen would continue to invest himself only to be disappointed. Because she _would_ disappoint him, especially considering how much this terrified her. It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed!


	26. Chapter 26

The drawback to Cullen’s room—and the hole in his roof—was that light streamed through as soon as the sun rose in the morning. No chance to sleep in or avoid the responsibilities of the day—just a bright glare in her eyes that made her squirm and bury her face deeper into the pillow under her head.

She’d moved from sleeping against Cullen’s chest fairly quickly in the night, she assumed. As of now, she was curled up on her side not facing him. 

Except that Cullen had followed her, and she dipped her chin down to see his arm curled around her as he pressed his chest to her back. 

He was very warm and she probably should have left, but she laid frozen instead, contemplating in a fairly panicked manner about what she was supposed to do now. She absently danced her fingers across the hair on his forearm, the veins on the back of his hand down to the tips of his fingers. 

Cullen shifted in his sleep, murmuring listlessly before his arm tightened around her and his breath fanned across her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and trapped a squeak in her throat. 

This was—

“Fuck,” Katria whispered into her pillow. 

What absolute insanity was this? How had things fallen apart this way? Or had they fallen apart at all? 

The rapid fluctuation of their relationship could not be a good thing. She’d slept in his bed, and they hadn’t even had sex. It diametrically opposed _everything_ she promised herself she’d do. 

Katria bit her lip until it hurt, then tried to free her hands from the blanket wrapped around them. She wiggled from his grasp, careful not to wake him, until her feet made a muffled thump against the wood floor. She crept over to her boots and slid into them. 

Katria drew to her full height and cast her eyes past her shoulder to look at Cullen. He’d rolled more onto his chest, arm splayed across where she had been seconds before. His hair was a mess of waves, cheek scrunched up against the sheets and lip pinched open a little. He’d probably drool later, which wasn’t adorable. Not at _all_. 

She made a frustrated noise not loud enough to reach him and forced herself down his ladder. Her hands wrapped around the rung nearest to her face once she reached the bottom, and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against it.

A drink. That’s what she needed. Though maybe not because it was basically dawn. She didn’t want to think about what all this intimacy meant, though if she kept falling into this easy emotional disclosure, she might not have a choice. 

===

Cullen would have bet the entirely of his life savings that Katria Trevelyan would not be in his bed when he woke up. 

He was right. 

His eyes opened to his sheets and arm outstretched, nothing else. Not Katria’s dark, wavy hair tickling his noise, or the line of her shoulder visible because her tunic was too large and slumped down.

He rolled over onto his back, staring through his ceiling, but quickly looked away because of the bright sunlight in his eyes. He had slept entirely too late. Spent too much time lying in bed thinking about women—just one woman, actually, when he should have been doing his job. Even if it meant spending the day at work with the smallest of smiles on his face from remembering that they’d laid together long enough for him to hear her heartbeat.

Katria would come back. He was at least mildly confident about that. Whether she would admit she returned to talk about _them_ , he was not so sure. Part of him wanted to rush out of his office and find her—tell her that it could be _easy_ if…well, maybe it wouldn’t be easy, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t try. 

Cullen eventually stumbled over to his armor stand and got dressed. He was in a hurry, so he brought his gloves down with him and slipped them on while he read the reports that had been left on his desk. 

The door directly in front of him flew open quite violently. Cullen’s neck snapped up—he had woken up too recently for that sort of noise. 

It was Ellana. She looked…like he hadn’t seen her before. Her eyes were glassy, mouth drawn in a tight, stern scowl that scared him a little. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen began. 

“Y-You—I…” Ellana made a choked noise, then clapped her hand over her mouth. 

“Ellana,” he said urgently, then strode over to her. “What? What’s wrong?” 

She peddled back, and lifted her arm to stop him. “No, Commander, I-,” Her deep breath shuddered all the way through her. “I need two of your men to—to take someone into custody for me.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he said. “Where would you like me to send them? I know we were tracking some rouge apostates in the-,” 

“She—they’re _here_ ,” Ellana cut in, turning away from him. 

His eyes widened slightly. “Who-,” 

She stamped her foot hard against the ground in a sharp gesture that startled him. Her fingers clenched hard into her short hair. 

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Just fuck this.” 

Cullen furrowed his brow. “Ellana, tell me what’s happening,” he demanded. 

“It’s Katria!” she snapped. “She _lied_.” 

His heart stopped, a wheezing breath cut short. “What?” 

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clenched her fist. “Two men. And you. The courtyard. Tavern. We’ll find her, wherever she is.” 

He put the heel of his palm against his temple. “I don’t understand. What could Katria have possibly lied about? She would never-,” 

Her hazel eyes were hard, brow set low. “I gave you an order, Commander, not a license to ask questions.”

“But-,” 

She spun on her heel, stalking through the open door back out onto the battlements. 

“Ellana!” he called after her, but she ignored him. 

Cullen gave a low growl, then jerked back to his desk. He had never seen Ellana act like that before—had everything that happened recently really broken her so badly? And what in the Maker’s name could Katria have to do with it? 

He was terrified, and with far too much brusqueness found two of his men. Maybe he really didn’t want to know what was wrong with Ellana. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. 

It was. 

===

After she left Cullen’s office, Katria drew a bath, then returned to her room to change. During that time, her stomach growled incessantly—she hadn’t eaten in a while and eventually her hunger was so insatiable, she decided to go to find something for breakfast. Which definitely was not an attempt for her to avoid Cullen. He would probably find her anyway. Not that she’d mind. His company was...possibly her favorite thing. 

She climbed down the steps to the courtyard, passing the sparring ring and waving to a cluster of scouts. She saw Ellana hiking up the stairs from the lower level, in full armor, her staff strapped to her back. 

Katria stopped and smiled at her. 

Except that she didn’t smile back. Just kept walking, striding forward like a ram about to butt her in the stomach. Cullen appeared behind Ellana, hustling towards her with two soldiers, so that they reached her at the same time. 

“Good morning-,” 

Cullen threw his hand out. “Ellana, explain the meaning of this _now_.”

Ellana ignored him, then lifted one finger to Katria, pointing with an expression that was nothing but malevolent. “Y-You—you lied to me!” 

The shrill tone of her voice locked all Katria’s muscles, forcing her body to turn away slightly in a defensive pose. 

She furrowed her brow. “Ellana, what’s-,” 

“I trusted you,” she began, voice trembling with rage. “I _confided_ in you. I gave you a chance, a-and-,” 

Katria scratched her temple. “Did I miss some memo about throwing random accusations around or-,” 

Ellana gave her a disgusted look and marched backwards.

“This is not a _joke_ ,” she growled, then sharply gestured down the steps. Two other guards were dragging a prisoner forward. 

Ellana turned back to her. “I interrogated the mercenary captain of the man who slaughtered my family,” she said. “A-And when he provided a list of all the people in his little group, guess whose name I saw?” 

Katria was not looking at Ellana. Her eyes traveled past the Inquisitor’s slender shoulder, to the prisoner who was now close enough to be recognizable. There was a stupid, shit-eating grin on the man’s face. 

“Hi, kitten,” Derek said smugly. He looked more haggard than when she’d seen him in the Emerald Graves. 

Katria ran her hand through her hair and put her other on her hip. “Fuck me,” she said, then let out a heavy sigh. “Ellana, let me explain. I’m not a part of this idiot’s _group_. I was once, but my allegiance is to you. I was never involved with anything he did!”

Ellana turned to Derek, eyes glassy. “Is this her?” she asked. “Katria Trevelyan? From the names you gave us.” 

“Never knew she was a Trevelyan,” Derek replied. “But yeah, that’s my girl.” 

“I’m not your girl,” she snapped reflexively. 

Ellana clenched her fist. “You encountered her in the Emerald Graves a few months ago?” 

Derek shifted and the shackles on his wrists clanked together. “I did.”

“And she knew you were the group responsible for raiding Inquisition caravans, yet she let you go free anyway?”

“Yes,” Derek said. 

Cullen rested his hand on his sword. “What does this have to do with-,” 

Ellana lifted her hand to silence him. “She let you leave, and then you traveled to Wycome and—a-and slaughtered my clan?” 

Katria did not hear Derek say _yes_ again, though she knew he did. Her gaze fell down to the ground to the grass crushed under her feet, a ringing sound loud in her ears. She felt dizzy. Sick. 

Her throat was tight. Oh yes. This was it. She lifted her head and met Cullen’s stunned gaze. He broke from her and shook his head as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. 

“Ellana,” he said softly. “I’m sure-,” 

“Oh, I’m not _finished_ ,” Ellana growled. She pulled a letter from her belt and shoved it into Cullen’s chest. “I had Katria’s quarters searched this morning while she was gone and found this.”

“You _searched_ my-,” Katria stopped herself when Cullen unfolded the parchment. Oh, Maker. _Maker_ , she knew what that was.

As he read the letter, Cullen let out a breath through his mouth before his lips pressed together into an angry frown. The muscles in his jaw were tense, voice hoarse. 

“Why is Samson writing you letters, Katria?” 

“One letter,” she interjected. She tried to step closer, hands lifted, but his furious stare made her stop. “I can explain.” 

“Can you?” Ellana demanded angrily. “Can you explain why you caused the death of my family? Why you’ve been writing letters to the leader of _Corypheus’_ army?” She threw her arm out. “You were talking to him about his red lyrium caravans! Telling him how to avoid some Inquisition patrols!” 

Katria made an exasperated sound. “That was to gain his-,”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Ellana snapped. “The convenient lies you spin that I believed the first time you showed up in shackles.” 

Katria put her hands on her hips, shoulders slumped down because she thought her life was done devolving into such a disastrous chasm. Bad things had happened to Ellana and now that had inextricably seeped outward. 

“Ellana,” Katria said gently. “I know you are upset. But please consider that-,” 

“Do not speak to me like that,” Ellana hissed. “You will not patronize me. You are not my mother. My mother is _dead_ because of you.” 

Katria swallowed hard. “I-,” 

Ellana hastily wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I did not come here to talk. I came here to take you into custody.” 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, and she lifted her hand to him. 

“Commander, you have no authority to interfere with my directives,” she replied, then gestured to the two soldiers behind them. 

They froze, wide-eyed, hesitating for a few seconds before they dutifully strode forward. 

“Escort Scout Trevelyan to the dungeon to await judgment,” Ellana ordered in a low voice. 

Katria instinctively stepped back, only to have each arm wrenched behind her. “Ellana, come _on_!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t—you can’t-,”

The men dragged her away, her heels leaving a line in the dirt as she tried to get her bearings. 

“Ellana, please!” 

Katria looked over at Cullen, watched him rake his hand through his hair, and shift in some panicked motion. Their eyes met—and his disbelief turned to anger, the letter in his hand crinkling as he regarded her wearily. 

_I can explain_ , she wanted to scream, except she was already at the door leading to the garden. And she already knew it wouldn’t do any good. She knew things had gone to the Void, like they always did. 

===

Ellana was not thinking clearly. Cullen could see that. He did not blame her. 

She’d been dumped by someone she said she loved, betrayed by two of her closest friends, tortured in the Fade, and worst of all, her clan had been wiped out. All things that happened out of her control and utterly broke her. 

Just because the Inquisitor wasn’t thinking clearly does not mean locking Katria away wasn’t the right decision. She was—a traitor. She was…Maker, he didn’t know _what_ she was and that was the problem. 

Who in the Void was this woman that he had said he cared for? 

Ellana fled as soon as Katria disappeared from their view. He wanted to speak to her, but she was not in a state for that. Ellana’s frayed disposition scared him because once she found comfort in Katria to soothe her distress and now—well, Katria was another source of it. 

Cullen returned to his office and sat with his face buried in his hands. A messenger arrived with more instructions, and a time in the afternoon when the Inquisitor wanted to meet all her advisors in the War Room. 

In the meanwhile, he laced his fingers tightly together to keep them from shaking. With rage, maybe. He didn’t know. 

He tried to focus on the facts. Katria had lied. 

Lied about what? Her past. Her allegiance. Her feelings. _Everything._

He smashed his fist into his desk in a sharp motion that clattered the ink wells around him. It was ironic— _sick_ that Katria was right. That he’d given what he could to her, and she gave nothing in return because _she was a traitor_.

Writing to _Samson_. Giving information to him about the Inquisition’s troops. Letting criminals roam free around the Emerald Graves. Criminals who went forth to do even more unthinkable things. It was unforgiveable. 

Stunned was not the right word for how he felt. And any disbelief he had quickly evaporated, left behind vestiges of anger that quickly grew the longer he sat.

Against all his better judgment, Cullen went down to the dungeons. He did not even make any professional pretense for himself. No, he was going to find Katria so she knew that—that he was _done_. 

The basement of Skyhold was dark—torches lined the walls but the shadows pervaded. Guards stationed on either side of the stairs nodded to him, and he marched down the hallway, shoes clicking in the silence. 

Before he even reached the last cell, he heard Katria’s voice. 

“Cullen.” 

He paused, then took a few final steps so that he was standing in front of the metal gate separating them. Katria had stood, gripping the bars with both hands. There was dirt underneath her fingernails, the fabric of her breeches by her knees, even across the well-formed line of her cheekbone that he did _not_ want to brush away. 

“How did you know I was here?” he asked. 

She shifted. “I know—your walk. What it sounds like.” 

He frowned. “Did Samson ask you to learn that? Everything about me so you could-,” 

“ _Cullen_ ,” she cut in, looking hurt. 

“You lied to me!” he snapped. “Maker, and I actually-,” 

“I didn’t lie!” Katria insisted. 

His brow wrinkled as his voice lowered. Hoarse. “Ellana’s family is _dead_ because of you. You _knew_ that man was committing crimes against the Inquisition and you let them go anyway.” 

Tears welled up quickly, and she turned away. The light from the torches danced across her skin; puffy, swollen from crying. Guilt solidified in his gut, but—but she deserved it, didn’t she? 

Katria wiped her eyes. “You can’t imagine…” She rubbed her face, shoulders shaking, before she turned back. “Cullen, the guilt is—I-I can’t. What am I s-supposed to do?” 

Her hand reached for him past the bars of her cell, and he stepped away. 

“Why are you still playing games with me?” he asked. “It’s over. No more manipulation.” 

“I-I’m not,” she stammered. “Cullen, I…” She swiped at her eye again. “I wasn’t manipulating you. I care about you more than anything. I do. I want-,”

Cullen’s heart clenched, keeping whatever happiness he felt about her words inside and tightly contained. The heel of his palm slammed into one metal bar, making the whole door shake violently. She drew back. 

“It’s too late, Katria,” he snapped. “You can’t do this in a dungeon, locked away, and except me to be believe you’re being genuine.” 

“I am!” she exclaimed, and her voice broke. 

“You had plenty of chances to say it,” Cullen replied. “I _begged_ you. And now that you’ve been imprisoned by our boss for being a _traitor_ , you want me to believe that you care.”

Katria pushed her hair back with both hands. “I’m telling the truth!” 

“Just like you told the truth about Samson? About the choices you made in the Emerald Graves?” he demanded. 

“Cullen, please,” she whispered. 

He gave a defeated sigh. “I have duties to the Inquisition. To Ellana. And you’ve betrayed both. Me. Because your allegiance apparently lies with some mercenary captain, and Samson.”

“I wrote that letter so Samson-,” 

“You gave him Inquisition intelligence.” 

She clenched her fist. “Because I was trying to gain his trust,” she said. “Avoiding Inquisition patrols is small potatoes if he gives me some hints about where his base of operations is.”

“Katria, that is _foolish_ ,” he replied harshly. “Reckless. We’re supposed to be a team and you went behind our backs with this.” 

“I’m not used to…” She put her hand to her temple. “It’s just that I’ve been _alone_ and…” 

“I don’t even believe you!” Cullen exclaimed. “After all that sympathetic drivel you’ve been saying about Samson, I think you’re on his side. You hated me when you got here, of course you would conspire against us.” 

“If I hated you so much, then why did I have sex with you?” she demanded. 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Because it felt good and you weren't attached,” he said. "What you insisted was happening all along."

Katria was silent for a long time, and the guilt worsened, forcing him to bow his head. She sniffled, arms crossed. 

“I overheard some guards,” she said hoarsely. “Ellana—I think she might execute Derek.” 

“He orchestrated the murder of her family,” Cullen replied. “If I were her, I would do it.” 

Katria swallowed. “I don’t fault her,” she said. “Especially after everything that’s happened. But-,” 

He met her gaze. Her blue eyes were darker in the torchlight. 

“Cullen, what’s Ellana going to do to _me_?” She shook her head. "S-She won't even let me _explain_ \--she's just so angry..." 

His hand rose to his neck. “I couldn’t stop her whatever she chose.” 

Katria looked at her feet. “Would you want to?” 

_No_ , he wanted to say. _Yes_ , he wanted to say.

Cullen cleared his throat. “The point is that I _can’t_.” He rested his hand on his sword and another sigh left him. “I should go.” 

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” Katria remarked. “And I was right, too.” 

He gave a derisive snort. “Yes, congratulations.” He stepped back. “You really did fuck things up in the end.” 

Cullen turned and headed back down the hallway. His footsteps echoed through the darkness. He hated that he was known so well by someone who spouted so many lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twists always make me nervous, but I hope you all enjoyed! Or enjoyed to the extent that bad things happening can be enjoyed. Plenty of story left to go after this!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for minor blood/violence.

Cullen was in the War Room first, early by at least half an hour, hoping desperately Ellana appeared in the doorway. She did not. He stood alone for most of that time and paced along his side of the table. He tried to consult some reports, but was far too distracted. 

After a while, Josephine and Leliana entered the room together, and Cullen stopped, posture stiff. 

“Commander Cullen,” Josephine said with a polite nod. 

“Ambassador,” he said back, though he had zero desire for any niceties. 

“I briefed Josephine about what happened this morning,” Leliana remarked, leveling her gaze at him in a way he could not read. 

Josephine gave a small huff. “Really, I can’t see why Scout Trevelyan was confronted in the middle of the _courtyard_ ,” she said. “It does not make the Inquisition look cohesive to our allies when one of the Inquisitor’s companions is arrested so publicly.” 

“Ellana was very upset,” Cullen replied. “I don’t know that she was thinking clearly.” 

The door opened at the other end of the room, and he quickly silenced himself when Ellana strode in. She looked calmer than in the morning, through her eyes were still rimmed with red, cheeks more hallow than in weeks past. 

She only nodded curtly to them once she reached the table. “Leliana, I trust you’ve been continuing to investigate the extent of Scout Trevelyan’s treason.” 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” she replied. “Though I am confident that her activities were isolated to her attempts to contact Samson, as well as that mercenary captain.” 

Ellana’s hazel eyes narrowed. “How did she do these things without your notice? I told you to watch her.” 

Leliana shifted, her hands clasped behind her back. “I apologize, Inquisitor. I should have been more vigilant.” Her eyes flicked over to Cullen. “Scout Trevelyan fooled many of us, I think.” 

He looked away from her and to the table, hand tight around his sword. Did she know about them? Did anyone know? 

“I am _well_ aware of that,” Ellana replied acridly. “I will be much less trusting in the future.” 

“This will not happen again, I can assure you,” Leliana said. 

Ellana frowned. “I would hope so,” she replied, still looking irritated with Leliana before she turned to face them all more completely. “I plan to sit in judgment for the mercenary captain tomorrow.” 

“I will be happy to add that to your schedule,” Josephine remarked. 

“Add plenty of time,” Ellana ordered. “I will be executing him.” 

“Oh,” Josephine said, face falling only minutely. “Well—yes. I will have the infrastructure assembled in the courtyard for…that.” 

Leliana asked a question that made his heart stutter, even though he didn’t want it to. 

“What are your plans for Trevelyan?” 

Ellana was silent for a few moments. Her head bowed, but Cullen could still see her delicate brow arch in, jaw tense. 

“What are my options?” she eventually asked. 

“We could hand her off to the authorities in the Free Marches as a form of exile,” Josephine suggested. “Since she is of noble blood, another Trevelyan might be willing to take her in.” 

“She could remain in Skyhold working,” Leliana said. “Manual labor. Menial tasks that are highly regulated.” 

“Katria can’t work for the Inquisition anymore,” Ellana interrupted sharply. “She had her chance.” 

“Then execute her.” 

Cullen straightened like a rod. “You can’t possibly be _serious_ ,” he blurted out. “That’s not—we have plenty of resources to keep her imprisoned here until Corypheus is defeated.” 

“I’m not sure you should have input on Scout Trevelyan’s fate,” Leliana said, cold gaze on him again. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded. 

Leliana made a disgusted noise. “She has clearly emotionally compromised you.” 

Ellana’s brow wrinkled. “Emotionally compromised?” 

“They’ve been fucking for months,” Leliana said to her, and Cullen make a choked noise. 

“You have no _right_ to share that information here,” he snapped with a scowl. 

“Is it true?” Ellana asked incredulously. “Have you been sleeping with her?” 

Cullen exhaled sharply after swallowing. “I—that’s simply not-,” 

“Answer the question, Commander,” Ellana ordered, crossing her slender arms. 

He clenched his jaw. “Yes.” 

Ellana gave a bitter laugh, her disbelief bursting out of her. “And how long has this been going on?” 

“Inquisitor, I can assure you this isn't-,”

“Answer!” she demanded, then slapped her palm against the table. “Stop acting like it’s not a big deal that you were sleeping with a woman who’s a _traitor_!”

“It—it didn’t mean anything!” Cullen insisted. Lying. _Lying_. “I was blowing off steam a few times since…before the Winter Palace.” 

“ _Before_ the-,” Ellana stopped and threw her hand up. “Is this why you want me to spare her? To keep her around?” 

“No,” Cullen said firmly, with force that made his voice echo through the room. “I suggested you spare her because that’s the kind of person you are, Ellana. I know you’re hurt—hurt beyond _measure_ —but you have always been kind. The best of us.” 

“It made no difference,” she spat. “Being _good_ did nothing!” 

“I know,” Cullen said softly. 

“You _don’t_!” she exclaimed, then immediately put her hand to her forehead. Her shoulders rose from her calming breaths. “I—,” She sighed. “I have not made my decision yet. I might…Mythal’s mercy, I don’t know what I might do.” 

“Well please let us know if you need anything at all, Inquisitor,” Josephine said with a polite smile. “Perhaps you should consider getting some rest?” 

Ellana rubbed her eyes. “I’ll—be fine. My outbursts have been…well, I apologize for them.” 

“It’s completely understandable,” Josephine assured her. 

Ellana gathered up a stack of papers from the table. “Thank you, Josie. I promised Morrigan I would meet with her later. I think she has some ideas about Corypheus’ whereabouts.” Her eyes rose to Cullen; they had a disapproving glint, to be sure. 

“You should have told me about you and Katria.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was…nothing.” 

Ellana turned on her heel and walked away. Cullen thought about being quick to follow her—standing in the same room with Leliana was not something he wanted to do currently. He knew that their Spymaster could be cold, cruel even, but he had always accepted it as a part of their pursuit of victory. Perhaps she was more malicious than he wanted to admit. 

Leliana turned to him. “I can see you are upset, but Ellana deserved to know.” 

“How did you?” he asked, trying his best to hide his disdain. 

She cocked an eyebrow. “I am the Spymaster, and I would not say either of you were discreet.” 

Cullen just grunted in reply. He grabbed his reports from the table and stalked from the room. He was determined to submerge himself in his work. To ignore that jolt of true panic that shot through him when Leliana had suggested executing Katria for her treason. That could not possibly be her fate. 

Though it occurred to him in his capacity as Commander, he had no control over that. Ellana could do what she wished. It’s not like it would be completely unreasonable for her to do that. And he couldn’t stop her. Not officially. 

Maker, those thoughts terrified him. To think that he might have to stand against Ellana to protect Katria, when he wasn’t even sure if she deserved it, or if that was the right thing to do.

Fortunately, there were plenty of tasks that required Cullen’s attention, including their efforts to try to locate Samson’s base of operations. Dagna also needed him to compile as much information as possible on Samson’s armor in order to find ways to disable it. 

He could focus on those things. Focus on work. Not the fact that he had woken up that morning in possibly one of the best moods he’d ever been in, only to have it sour, violently and quickly. Two minutes of conversation and Katria’s _truth_ was not that she cared for him, but that she was a liar of the worst kind. She’d caused unfathomable pain to him and someone who was his friend. 

It seemed Ellana was willing to exact punishment of the highest kind for those deeds, and Cullen did not know how he felt about that. 

===

Katria had been in dungeons plenty of times in her adult life. In fact, her stay in Skyhold was arguably one of the _nicest_. The guards were not mean; they did not taunt her. She knew them, so food and water was brought to her of a good quality, and she was confident no excess harm would come to her. 

But the one thing that remained the same was the silence. Sitting in a dank, stone room with nothing to do. Forced to think over and _over_ about the hurt plain on Ellana’s face, the tremble in her voice. She had never meant to cause that kind of destruction. 

Cullen’s anger intensified her despair. It suffocated her. The sound of his footsteps had disappeared from the room the one time he came to see her, and she’d fallen to her knees, clutching her chest because she couldn’t _breathe_. The life she foolishly built in this place had collapsed in one fell swoop, and she was trapped underneath the rubble. 

Derek broke the silence on occasion from his cell next to her with jokes or lewd comments. Because he was like her and covered his pain with humor. Except this time Katria’s wound was too gaping—too fresh—for her to do anything but sit curled up against the wall praying this was all a dream.

“Oh, kitten,” he said, and his voice boomed across the empty space. “Katria, my kitten. I thought you’d learned your lesson about Templars.” 

She kept her forehead rested against her knees. “Leave me alone.” 

“He couldn’t have been as good of a lover as me,” he began. Katria couldn’t see him, but she knew he was smirking. “I’m assuming you fucked him anyway. Such a touching conversation you had when-,” 

“Derek, knock it off!” she snapped. “I’m serious.” 

He just snorted, and she heard his boots scraping across the stone as he shifted. Katria pushed her hair behind her ears; it was frizzy and damp from the lack of air circulating around them. 

“You’re in serious trouble, you know,” she said. “The Inquisitor could execute you, if she wanted. You murdered her family and-,” 

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” he interjected. “I know the price of—how I’ve lived. How _you_ have lived too.” 

Katria sighed. “How could you do this, Derek? Those Dalish were _innocent_ people, and you slaughtered all of them.” 

“Some of them were scattered,” he said. “The children mostly.” 

“And you think that makes it better?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Derek replied, voice sharper. “Of course now that I’m in a dungeon I regret what we did. But that Duke was willing to pay us so obscenely. We’d never have to work again. So I agreed. It was just some knife-ears.”

Katria buried her face in her hands. Maker, she hated how many years she spent with this arse. 

“It doesn’t seem like it was worth it,” she said. 

“You’re in this dungeon, too,” he shot back. “Don’t act like you’re in less trouble.” 

He was right, and Katria nestled her face deeper past her knees, curling up in the hopes that she’d just disappear. 

She had little awareness for how much time had passed, but eventually the silence was replaced by the sound of the door at the top of the stairs opening. Footsteps against stone echoing down. Gruff voices, then the clank of metal keys growing louder as someone traversed the hallway. 

Derek was scooped from his cell and shackled. He was being brought forth for judgment; she barely caught a glimpse of him as he was dragged back through the corridor, his mop of dark hair bowed. He was probably smirking, but likely wouldn’t be doing that for long. 

She was alone after that. Sitting and contemplating her fate as well as Derek’s. Would she be brought forward right after him? Had Ellana talked with her advisors about what to do? What had Cullen suggested? 

The door opened again later, and Katria perked up. She thought for a moment Derek was being returned to his cell. That Ellana, above all odds, had spared him, despite her anger.

It was not Derek. Instead, in the flickering torchlight, she saw Cullen looming over her, so broad because of his armor. His expression was stoic—a contrast to her heart that was thrumming rapidly. Her lips parted, but no words emerged at first. 

Katria scrambled up and wrapped her fingers around the bars of her cell. She regretted it immediately because her hands were filthy. 

“Cullen,” she breathed. 

He looked away. “The Inquisitor wants you to be present for your friend’s...punishment.” 

Her brow arched in. “He’s not my friend. I hate him.” 

Cullen ignored her and flipped through the ring of keys he’d gotten from the guards. 

“What _is_ Derek’s punishment?” she asked. 

The lock clicked as he turned the key, and the door creaked open. 

“Execution.”

Katria exhaled in a slow breath. She was not surprised. “Oh,” she said, then when a guard stepped forward, her hand rose. “Wait—you don’t have to _shackle_ me. I’m not going to try anything.” 

“Its protocol,” Cullen replied mildly, gesturing his men forward. 

Katria winced when the chains were clamped around her sore wrists; still, his men were not too rough with her. 

Cullen’s expression changed once he looked at her again, his lips tightening before he quickly turned away and marched down the hall. She was escorted behind him. 

They did not travel to the Great Hall and instead went straight to the courtyard. Katria did not consider how excruciating an experience it would be. 

The people they passed stopped to stare and whisper to one another. Their words did not reach her, but she knew what they were. Various expressions of surprise and disgust. A repetition of the rumors that Scout Trevelyan was a traitor and a liar. 

It was humiliating. 

A platform was set up in the courtyard. One Ellana had never used before because she’d never executed anyone. But it was familiar to Katria—something she saw in most towns. The wooden stage where punishment was given to those who deserved it and those who didn’t. 

Derek likely fell into the first category, and Ellana would swing her sword hard with vengeance. The idea was a little terrifying. 

Skyhold denizens had gathered to watch the execution, and Katria was stopped at the rim of the crowds. Cullen stood beside her—to supervise her, probably. Josephine was at the base of the stairs with her clipboard, and nodded to Ellana as she climbed the stairs. 

Derek was dragged up the other side, no longer smiling. His knees were bent slightly, and his lip quivered once he was pushed to the floor. He did not speak. He had too much pride for that. 

“Why am I here?” Katria asked Cullen. 

He kept his eyes ahead, the fur of his coat ruffled by the wind. “I brought you here on the Inquisitor’s orders.” 

“But _why_?” she repeated. “Does she—want to scare me? To teach me some lesson?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Katria shifted, her shackles chafing her wrists in a pain too familiar. “Cullen, you must know her plan for me.” 

“I do not,” he said. 

She frowned. “Don’t lie.” 

“ _You_ have no right to ask that of me,” he snapped, eyes darting over to her before he reigned himself back in and straightened. Posture perfect, quintessentially the _Commander_ who was pretending he wasn’t hurt at all by what had happened. 

“Cullen, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so-,” 

“Just stop,” he cut in, though he didn’t sound angry. “You are not doing yourself any good.” 

Katria felt tears welling up in her eyes, so she looked down at her boots. They were filthy and scuffed, just like the rest of her. 

The crowd’s murmurs quieted as Ellana stepped forward. Her back was straight, face drawn in a severe expression that made her look older than Katria thought possible. She held her sword in one hand. It was massive, and Katria knew how heavy it was, but Ellana wielded it with confidence. She must have practiced using it. 

Derek’s eyes scanned the crowed, then his throat bobbled and he looked down. 

The quiet as Ellana raised her sword was tense, but fragile. It would be shattered when her sword accomplished its purpose. 

Katria tried very hard to remain calm and keep her eyes forward. The sword arced high in the air, and Ellana thrust the entirety of her small frame forward so the blade landed hard on the back of Derek’s neck. 

She watched it all, even though the sound of bone cracking and flesh being sliced made her stomach lurch. The courtyard was filled with gasps and other sounds of horror. Ellana had swung so hard, her sword hit the platform with a _thud_. Right after the sickening sound Derek’s head made. 

She dropped it immediately, letting the blade sticky with blood clatter to the floor. Her expression was ferocious, small nose crinkled up and eyes glinting. 

Then Ellana’s gaze found her from across the crowd. It burned; a hot knife straight through Katria’s heart, and she inhaled a serrated breath. _I hate you_ , Ellana’s eyes said. _I could do this to you_. 

Katria’s eyes dropped first, then she heard Ellana’s footsteps as she descended the platform and disappeared. 

Katria was consumed by dread after that and could hardly speak as she was guided back through the crowds shuffling away. She swallowed roughly, and her teeth scraped her chapped lips. 

“Cullen,” she said hoarsely. “What is she going to do to me?” 

He seemed shaken as well; his skin was more sallow as he insisted on not meeting her eyes. “I can’t say.” 

“I deserve to _know_ ,” Katria insisted. 

“It’s not my call to make,” he replied. 

She gave a frustrated sigh as he marched ahead to hold open the door for her and the guards on either side of her. They had to go one at a time once they reached the narrow stairs to the dungeon. Katria’s hands were shaking, making the metal at her wrists rattle. 

The guards waited at the head of the corridor while Cullen escorted her the rest of the way to her cell. He sorted through the keys again for the one that opened her door. Panic rose up in her throat at the thought of being imprisoned again between those four stone walls. 

“She might execute me,” Katria said, words tumbling out. “A-And maybe I deserve it, but I—Cullen, I…” A tear broke through and trickled down her cheek, but her shackles kept her from wiping it away. “It was never my intention to cause Ellana pain.” 

“You did,” Cullen said, sliding the key into the lock. 

She clenched her fingers together. “Cullen, please set me free,” she whispered. 

He turned. “What?” 

“She’s going to kill me, and…” She inhaled a shaky breath. “You didn’t in Kirkwall, but if you let me go now…” 

Cullen tightened his grip on the key, contemplating in silence while the light danced across his face. Katria wondered if he was thinking of Kirkwall, like she was. A young Cullen with the same dark circles but no wrinkles around his eyes, standing before her with his sword, declaring that she would not go free with Clara. Because it was his duty. After a span of nine years, was it just the same again? 

“I can’t,” he said in a quiet voice, and her shoulders fell. He opened the door and began unlatching her shackles. 

“Do you want her to?” she asked shakily after a few moments. “I know you’re hurt. Did you suggest it? That Ellana execute me?” 

Cullen pulled the shackles from her wrists a little roughly. 

“I would _never_ -,” He clenched his jaw. She was probably mistaken, but his eyes looked like they were glistening in the torchlight. He was close enough that his breath tickled her cheek once he spoke. “I would never.”

Her hand drifted forward, but he stepped back. 

“Go,” he said gruffly, gesturing inside her cell. “Please.”

Katria hesitated, but then acquiesced. As soon as she shuffled inside, he closed the door and locked it. She turned. 

“Cullen.” 

He ignored her and disappeared into the darkness. Katria watched him leave with her forehead pressed to the door. 

“Maker,” she breathed, then gave a small squeak that trapped her sob in her throat. It didn’t work long; her knees buckled underneath her, and she slumped down. 

She had nothing. Clara, Ellana, Cullen, her _life_ —all forfeit. Her dignity and honor were gone, too. She’d caused death and pain all over again. More and more destruction and maybe it would be better if Ellana gave her the punishment she feared so greatly. 

Katria turned her back to the cell door and collapsed. She wept hard into her hands, rubbing her face raw, her breath leaving her lungs in short, wobbling gasps. She’d been shoved to the frayed end of her rope, and there was more blood on her hands than ever. The sound of her sobbing broke the silence of the dungeon for a long time, but she remained alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for all your comments last chapter! They make me so happy, which helps when I am writing sad chapters. (Which this chapter also arguably counts as). Y'all are the best!


	28. Chapter 28

Katria spent a few more days in the dungeon, wondering if Ellana’s plan was to simply let her rot away in the basement of Skyhold until she was forgotten. Sitting in the darkness was driving her mad. There was a leak somewhere—at times, the only thing she heard for hours on end was the constant drip of water against the stone flag. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

She wanted to scream, but she did not. Her face stayed buried in her hands and when the guilt was so overwhelming she’d groan softly, nails digging sharp into her scalp. Whatever this was, whatever was supposed to happen to her, she just wanted it to _happen_. 

The dungeon door opened at one point, but Katria did not flinch because she assumed the guards were only changing shifts. When she heard the echo of footsteps, she lifted her head and strained her eyes in the dim light. 

It wasn’t Cullen. Tears welled up in her eyes because it wasn’t Cullen and she wanted it to be him so _badly_. 

“Prison does not look good on you, my dear.” 

Katria’s voice was raspy. “Dorian.” 

He studied the ground for a moment, his nose crinkled in disgust, before he crouched down. “I suppose I should be here to tell you I hate you, but I find myself harboring the smallest amount of sympathy for your plight,” he said. “A fact I implore you not to repeat.” 

She kept her eyes downcast. “Who…hates me?” 

Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, the uptight ones. Cassandra, Solas, Vivienne—well, I believe the Enchanter claimed to have no opinion on you whatsoever, other than that you were an incompetent spy.”

“I’m not a spy,” Katria bit out. 

“I’m aware,” he said. “But you know how rumors can spread.” 

She turned to look at him. “Why are you here?” 

“I suppose I wanted to ensure you were safe,” Dorian replied airily. “That you weren’t going to try anything stupid.” 

“Like escaping?” she asked. 

“Escaping in some clumsy, barbaric way that involves violence would be stupid,” Dorian admitted. 

Katria’s brow furrowed. “I would never hurt anyone in the Inquisition trying to get away.” 

“I know,” he assured her. “Though I’m not sure how successful your attempt would be anyway. Ellana has you tightly monitored.” 

She slid her hands down the front of her shins. “Is she okay?” 

Dorian hesitated. “Better sometimes. Not always.” 

“It was never my intention-,” She stopped, choked up. “When I let Derek go, I could have never guessed that he would do what he did.” 

“Negligence,” Dorian said. “Stupid of you, maybe. Not unforgiveable.” 

Katria sniffled. “To you, maybe. But she’s…been through too much.” 

He shifted. “You might be surprised to learn that Ellana is more mature than you ever gave her credit for.” 

“Yes, another mistake,” she grumbled, hands rising to cover her face. “Add it to the list.” 

“I’m not a fan of pity parties with no alcohol,” Dorian remarked, then glanced around the dark hallway. “And I don’t see any liquor here.” 

Katria lifted her head to glare at him. “Have you spoken to Cullen?” 

“Not about anything substantial,” he replied. “Though the man is despondent. Like a kicked puppy.” 

She sighed and shook her head. “He won’t listen to me. I didn’t write that letter to Samson because I’m a traitor.” 

Dorian put his hand against the iron bar on her door. “You can’t blame him for thinking that way, considering how you arrived at the Inquisition in the first place,” he said. “Cullen also has a tendency to be put in a _very_ bad mood whenever the topic of Samson arises.”

Katria crossed her arms. “I didn’t betray him.” 

“You certainly weren’t honest with him.” 

Her eyes flicked over to him. “And now I’m going to die for it.” 

“Ellana wouldn’t,” he said. 

“You don’t know that,” she replied. 

Dorian leaned forward more. “Perhaps you misheard me.” He reached through the bars and put his hand on her knee. Perfect, smooth noble skin against the filthy fabric of her breeches. His eyes met hers in a serious look she had not seen before. 

“No matter what Ellana says, she will not kill you.” 

Katria lower lip quivered, and she ducked down. _I will not let her kill you_ , Dorian said, in not so many words. _I will stand by you_. 

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye down her cheek, and she wiped it away before he could see. “I believe you,” she said meekly. 

Dorian retracted his hand and stood. “And who knows. Ellana might surprise you.” 

Katria stretched out her legs and swallowed. “I hope so.” 

“I’ll see you soon, my dear,” Dorian said, with a small nod. He then turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway. 

She leaned against the wall once he was gone, her heart beating with rapidity in her chest. The heavy despair overwhelming her like a dark cloud hemmed in at Dorian’s words. It wasn’t Cullen. It’s wasn’t Ellana. Not exactly the absolution she so desperately craved, but at least someone was on her side. Though, hopefully Dorian wouldn’t need to fight for her at all. 

===

Cullen was in the Great Hall early on the day Katria was called forth for judgment. Many followed his lead, eager to see what the Inquisitor would do to the woman once considered her friend. There were murmurs of execution, of course. Exile. Even dressing her up as the Inquisition’s court jester. 

He tried to convince himself he was not worried about any of those outcomes. The effort kept him up most nights, forcing himself to expend all tender emotions that might have remained for Katria. _Everything_ he felt was a lie. A careful manipulation that he’d so foolishly fallen into. Even though she told him all the while not to get attached. 

Just before she was to sit in judgment, Ellana crossed through the Great Hall to her room. Cullen strode forward a few steps to walk beside her. 

“Inquisitor-,” 

“I know what you’re going to ask, Cullen,” she said, continuing forward.

He cleared his throat. “Then do you have an answer for me?” 

“No,” she replied simply. 

Cullen stopped in front of the door leading to her chambers. “But-,” 

Ellana whirled around, glaring. “Commander, you can understand my hesitation to share my opinions with you about Scout Trevelyan.” 

“I’ve promised you a million times our—it meant _nothing_ ,” he insisted.

Ellana raised her hand to the door and pushed it open. “You will learn about her fate at the judgment just like everyone else.” 

Cullen followed her inside a few steps. “Are you going to execute her?” he asked, perhaps a little too harshly. 

She was silent for a moment and looked over her shoulder at him, red hair falling in front of her face. “I gave you my answer, Commander.” 

Ellana headed to her room without letting him reply, and he stayed there with his shoulders slumped. He hoped Ellana’s resistance to answering him did not mean she was afraid to say something he didn’t want to hear. Then he reminded himself that he did not _care_ what her answer was.

The crowd in the Great Hall swelled in the next ten minutes, and Cullen positioned himself near the front of the room. Ellana emerged in a nicer outfit, her hair meticulously brushed. Her expression was stoic—her angry outbursts had decreased precipitously as of late, though Cullen knew she was far from done with the coping process. 

Cullen heard the familiar clack of shackles at the end of the room, and his body tensed. The other spectators quickly fell silent, shuffling further back as Katria’s heavy footsteps drew closer. 

He inhaled a slow breath and turned completely. His reaction to seeing her was immediate—his hand clenched around his sword, heart stuttering in his chest. 

Her clothes were caked with dirt, hands filthy. He could not see her face because her hair formed a matted curtain around her as she hung her head. She looked…broken. He hated it. 

Josephine politely cleared her throat. “For judgment this day, Inquisitor, I present Scout Katria Trevelyan. She has-,” 

“I know what the charges are,” Ellana interrupted tersely. 

Josephine stepped back with a small nod. “Of course, Inquisitor.” 

Ellana shifted in her chair, eyes narrowed as she appraised Katria. “The charges against you are serious, Trevelyan.” 

Katria was quiet for a long time—the silence was drawn taunt—before she lifted her head, hair falling back from her face. Her skin was pale and streaked with dirt. She looked tired beyond belief. 

“I never intended anyone to be harmed by my actions,” she said. “Nor has my allegiance ever been anywhere but with you.” 

Ellana tented her fingers. “Your intentions mean little to me in the face of the consequences of your poor decisions.” 

Katria swallowed. “I made a mistake, and you can call me foolish. Stupid.” She clenched her fists while they were shackled. “But I acted with no _malice_.” 

“Either way my family is dead,” she snapped. “Samson, who is our enemy, has information you gave him.” 

She sighed. “I know you-,” 

“You know nothing,” Ellana cut in with a sharp gesture. “Whatever you believe about me is informed by your pathetic need to _mother_ me. To condescend because you think my age makes me incapable.” 

“I don’t-,” 

Ellana leaned forward. “I have carried this entire Inquisition on my shoulders. I walked alone out of Haven, I secured our alliance to Orlais, I led us into battle, out of the Fade, I will lead us to victory against Corypheus. And you _still_ treat me like a child. You never respected me.” 

Katria’s eyes darted up, some form of _emotion_ finally breaking onto her face. “I-I should have done better acknowledging your authority,” she admitted. “But if you think for a _second_ that I do not believe in you or care about you, you’re wrong. Ellana, you are—one of the finest people I have ever met, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m so…” She sighed and her head drooped back down. 

Ellana pursed her lips. “You’re not angry at me for imprisoning you?” 

“No,” Katria said. “I—you’re…the closest thing I have to family, and there’s nothing you could do to make me hate you or not forgive you.” She slumped down lower. “I have nothing. Less than nothing. Kill me. I probably deserve it.” 

Cullen closed his eyes and looked away. The intensity of his feeling was paralyzing him—chest expanding with each breath under his armor. Why did he so desperately want her to live when he was still so hurt? 

Ellana settled back against her throne, sitting straight. His heart clenched because her arm swung out—the gesture she so often used before she proclaimed her judgment. Her judgment as Inquisitor; one he could not protest to if he wanted to. 

“Katria Trevelyan, I sentence you to-,” Ellana pressed her lips together until they were white. “I sentence you to exile. From the Inquisition. From Skyhold. You will travel to the Free Marches and not return to this land again. You _will_ be followed to ensure you obey my orders, and if you don't, Leliana's spies have been ordered to take action.” She crossed her arms. “Do you understand?” 

Katria’s jaw had dropped slightly, cracked lips parted. “I…understand,” she eventually said. 

Ellana stood. “You will be escorted to your room, then you will depart within the hour. You will be given a horse and some supplies. No weapons.” 

A wave of frantic whispers eventually reached Cullen from the spectators. Katria was lugged to her feet while the Inquisitor stepped down from her throne. 

“Ellana,” Katria said, but she only raised her hand to silence her and walk away. Katria’s brow wrinkled in disappointment, and she looked down. Ellana’s mercy only extended so far, it seemed. 

Then her head lifted and her blue eyes were on _him_. He didn’t tear his gaze from her, only swallowed roughly, unable to speak, until Katria was guided away. She disappeared in the crowd shuffling around them. His breath whooshed out of him once she was gone. 

She was _saved_. 

===

Cullen panicked because every minute that ticked by meant it was nearer to the moment when Katria would leave. Forever. He was in shock about it, to be sure. He retreated to his office, pretending to get work done, but really he loitered on the battlements, keeping a subconscious eye on Katria’s movements. 

She cleaned up, she went to her room, then went to the tavern to say goodbye to those who still remained willing to talk to her. He was surprised she said anything at all, though knowing Katria her farewells were brief and lacking in any real emotional investment. Ellana had refused to speak to her at all. 

He almost made it. He _almost_ left her alone—proved his point that he did not care for her any longer. Except he left his office one last time, saw her in the courtyard below him tightening the straps on the saddle of her horse by the portcullis. 

So he climbed the stairs down to her. Of course, he stopped occasionally, doubting himself, his hand rising to his neck to rub it raw, but he eventually crossed the grass to her. She turned before he reached her, then her brow rose and her gaze darted away. 

“I…” She stopped and bit her lip. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” 

He shifted his weight between his feet. He studied her—thinking that he should remember everything about the way she looked in case he never saw her again. The way the sunlight hit her eyes—blue and brown around her pupil. Her dark hair picked up by the wind and fluttering across her face, skin ruddy and wrinkled just slightly around her eyes.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he admitted. 

Katria sighed. “Listen, Cullen I’m sorry,” she said. “This—never should have happened. We let things become some big complicated _mess_ when-,” She gestured between them. “When we were never going work in the first place.” 

Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “We might have if you hadn’t-,” 

“Fucked everything up?” Katria muttered. “I know.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “It will be better if I just leave.” 

Run away, she meant. Flee these complicated emotional issues. 

Cullen rested his hand on his sword. “You will go to the Free Marches, won’t you? You wouldn’t try to…” 

“Find Samson?” she suggested, an angry wrinkle forming in her brow. “You have that little faith in me? You don’t believe me?” 

“Why should I?” he asked incredulously. “You came here as a thief, then you gave away information to our enemy. Caused the death of Ellana’s family. Just because she showed you mercy doesn’t mean you’ll-,” 

She shoved her finger into his breastplate. “I am not on Samson’s side. I am not a traitor or a spy, and I didn’t betray you. Yes, I made a mistake, and trust me when I say that even though Ellana chose not to kill me, the guilt might. You have _no right_ to accuse me of taking advantage of Ellana’s mercy and joining Samson.” 

“It’s not entirely unreasonable for me to ask,” Cullen said petulantly. 

“Are you still angry? Is that the problem?” she demanded, moving around to the front of her horse and stroking its nose. Her fingers clenched tight around the reins. 

“Yes, I’m mad, you sent a letter to _Samson_.” 

She threw her free hand out. “Because-,” She stopped and gave a small laugh. “Maker, why am I even bothering? Your opinion of him isn’t going to change, and Ellana has _exiled_ me.” 

He frowned. “My opinion of Samson _shouldn’t_ change.”

Katria ran her hand across her temple. “Cullen, you are far too angry with a man who is in his current situation partially because of _you_.” 

“My actions in Kirkwall are not responsible for him _destroying_ the Templar Order,” he snapped. “They have been turned into everything they would have hated. He’s a-,” 

“Monster,” she finished acridly. “Yes, you said that the first time. It’s convenient for you to paint Samson as some unemotional tyrant instead of attributing his actions to his past and what he had to endure.”

Cullen pointed at her. “That does not justify the magnitude of destruction he’s caused!”

“It’s not supposed to!” she insisted. “But it doesn’t make him a monster! It doesn’t make him so different from us!” 

“This is exactly why I am angry with you, Katria,” he growled. “You manipulated me, spinning lies, then you turn around and throw your lot with _him_.” 

Katria stepped away from her horse slightly, shaking her head. “Why in the Void did you come here? Just to start an argument?” 

“You _hurt me_ ,” Cullen bit out, though he immediately regretted his outburst. “I—I really…”

“I told you how I felt about you, and you didn’t care!” she exclaimed. 

“You said it in a _dungeon_ ,” he shot back. “You wanted me to help you escape.” 

Katria scowled. “I was telling the truth!” 

He threw his hand up. “I don’t believe you. I _can’t_.” 

She studied him for a few moments, eyes searching his face with a disappointed expression before she turned back to her horse and stroked his mane. 

“It hardly matters now.” 

Cullen raked his fingers through his hair. “Katria-,” 

“Please _don’t_ ,” she interrupted, and then he noticed the tears in her eyes. “There’s no use talking more. It’s over, I’m leaving a-and I just want to… _avoid_ all this.” 

He should not have been surprised by that reaction. “So that’s it? You just leave?” 

“It’s better this way,” she insisted, wiping one eye with the back of her hand. “We can’t reconcile. You’re going to stay angry with me. I can’t make you be reasonable about Samson. I can’t take back what I’ve done.” 

“I _am_ reasonable about Samson,” Cullen said—though part of him knew that was the last thing she wanted to hear. 

Katria sighed, her shoulders sloping down as she turned away from him. She secured her foot in the stirrup of her saddle and hoisted herself up. She stared down at him from her horse. 

“I don’t know if you realize this, Cullen, but _you_ were the bad guy in Kirkwall,” she said. “Samson was doing the right thing, and you punished him for it.” 

“ _Meredith_ punished him,” Cullen replied. “And he is no longer that man anyway.” 

Katria looked away from him and through the portcullis. He wondered what she was thinking, if she was upset, but then saw two Inquisition guards standing at the top of the stairs by the Great Hall. Ellana stood between them, small, but still commanding, with her hands behind her back. 

Katria noticed them also and tightened her grip on her reins. “Looks like it’s time for me to go,” she said. Her head bowed slightly and a sigh left her. “I’m sorry again, and—and I never for a second manipulated you, whether you believe me or not.” 

He wanted to believe her. He did. The longer he looked at her, the more he doubted his conviction. But it would not break. He was past her--had learned his lesson. Things would be easier when she left anyway. "I don't believe you,” he said.

She soothed her hair back from her face, eyes glistening. “I suppose I deserve that answer.” 

Cullen stepped back to give her horse some space. “Safe travels, Trevelyan.” 

Katria paused a few moments, then nodded once to him. “Commander.” 

She craned her neck around and lifted her hand to Ellana. The Inquisitor did not return the gesture. 

With one quick snap of her heels, Katria and her horse were galloping through the grass, underneath the portcullis, and out of Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I feel like a broken record saying that but I have SO MUCH GRATITUDE. After all this time, posting chapters is still nerve-wracking for me, so its great to hear from y'all! 
> 
> In my mind, this chapter ends the angst trio of chapters, so after this point, things will move upward! :D


	29. Chapter 29

Cullen had never thought he would be _thankful_ for the amount of work that appeared on his desk every hour, but in the weeks after Katria’s departure, he was, in fact, grateful for the distraction it provided. 

Things had settled down considerably after she left. For one, there were no more frantic rumors swirling about if there were other traitors among the Inquisition ranks. Ellana had leveled out as well, though she no longer found joy, smiled easily, or even sought out the company of her other companions.

Cullen’s frustration about the futility of their attempts to find Samson distracted him the most. Inquisition soldiers had monitored the major trade roads in Ferelden and Orlais for a month and come up with no relevant information—Cullen wondered if Samson’s evasiveness had anything to do with the tips Katria had given him. It was an infuriating thought, and in the moments when he thought wistfully about her laugh or her smile, he would remember what she had done and undo that fondness. 

Cullen had returned to his office after a visit to the barracks when Ellana slipped through the door. 

“Commander,” she said. “Any updates?” 

Cullen walked over to his desk, shoulders rising in a sigh. “Not yet, Inquisitor. But we will find Samson soon, I swear it.” 

“I have faith in you,” Ellana assured him. She paused and crossed her arms. “What do you think the problem is?” 

“I’m not sure,” Cullen said. “There is a lot territory we need to monitor, but…” He frowned. “It’s also possible the help Samson received from Kat—Trevelyan is preventing our success as well.” 

Ellana mimicked his expression—her face always had a thin veneer of irritation whenever Katria came up conversation. “At least we know she’s not helping Samson anymore. Leliana sent two scouts behind her to track her. She’s moving quite…slowly through Ferelden.” 

“Why?” Cullen asked. “Is she alright?” 

Ellana cocked her head. “She’s fine, as far as I know. Spends a lot of time in taverns selling off her supplies in exchange for alcohol.” 

He swallowed and looked down. “I see.” 

She approached his desk, footsteps quiet. “We haven’t really discussed what happened between you two.” 

He picked up a report and rested one hand on his sword. “Trevelyan has left and whatever transpired did not affect my performance in any way,” he said shortly. “There’s really nothing to talk about.” 

Ellana leaned one hip against his desk. “Cullen, I’m not asking as the Inquisitor. I’m not suspicious. I’m your friend and you have been…very distant as of late.” 

“That has nothing to do with Katria’s departure,” he protested. 

“I only wanted to—offer comfort, if I could,” Ellana remarked. “I might not be in much of a state for it, but I cared for Katria too. And…” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “Well.” 

Cullen relaxed, regretting being so terse with her when she was only trying to help. He should have known Ellana would bounce back, or at least while she still suffered, her compassion for others would not falter. Tea still arrived in his office every afternoon because of her. 

“Thank you, Ellana,” he said. “I appreciate it.” 

The door opened beside them, and Cullen turned in time to see Leliana slip through, expression neutral as usual. 

“Good,” she said. “You’re both here.” 

“Is everything alright?” Ellana asked. 

Leliana paused and made a small noise in her throat. “Before Trevelyan left, she provided me with the information concerning how she managed to correspond with Samson undetected. I sent a scout to monitor the drop-off point in Val Royeaux where she received letters, and one arrived yesterday.” 

He furrowed his brow. “What are you saying? Samson replied to her?” 

“One of his officers,” Leliana said. “She gave them helpful information and they want more.” 

Cullen scowled, but before he could speak, Leliana handed the letter to Ellana. 

“You might find this helpful.” 

He waited—probably impatiently—as the Inquisitor scanned the letter. Her face fell once she reached the bottom, her lips pursed before she gave a small sigh. 

“Mythal’s mercy…” 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “Inquisitor-,” 

She handed the letter to him and he all but snatched it from her. After he read it, he gave a heavy sigh.

“Samson’s officer wanted to know the best way to avoid Inquisition patrols in the Western Approach,” Leliana said. “The north specifically, which tells us that their base is most likely-,” 

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “In the Western Approach,” he muttered. “That’s not a region people pass through in Orlais. It’s a destination.”

“Do you think that was Katria’s plan all along?” Ellana asked. “To discover exactly where Samson wanted to avoid Inquisition troops to lead us to his most important assets?” 

“It’s a terrible one,” Leliana replied. “Risky. Irresponsible. We might have found their base through our own investigation if she hadn’t been informing them.” 

“There’s no use speculating,” Cullen said with a wave of his hand. “We need to get moving and find him.”

“Already sent my scouts in the Approach a message,” Leliana said. “We should hear from them in a few days after their search.” 

Ellana nodded. “I will be prepared to leave as soon as we learn were his base is.” 

Cullen clasped his hands behind his back. “My duties usually keep me here, but I’d like to accompany you.” 

She met his gaze. “It will be dangerous, Commander.” 

“All the more reason for me to go,” he said. “Inquisitor, I—I insist.”

“Alright,” she replied as she folded her arms. “Be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.” 

“Of course,” Cullen said with a curt nod. He wrapped his hand around his sword and stepped back. “I will begin preparations at once.” 

Leliana had made her way over to his desk to retrieve Katria’s letter. She examined it between her hands. “I can’t believe she helped us.” 

“The ends of her reckless plan do not justify the means,” Cullen replied. 

Leliana lifted her head, cocking a single eyebrow in that knowing look she wore so well. He did not like feeling so vulnerable, so he turned away. 

Katria had left—permanently—and yet she was still the kind of woman he could not stop thinking about. 

===

The air at the Shrine of Dumat could have killed Cullen. Or at least that’s what Dorian and Varric said before they all entered. Once inside, Cullen agreed with that assessment. He had seen what red lyrium had done to Meredith and that was a small amount compared to the hulking chunks scattered around Samson’s camp. The stench of it was—intolerable. As was the heat it emitted and the way it seemed to crumple his carefully-erected defenses. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, their combat with the red Templars was hard-fought and protracted—all for nothing because Samson had known they were coming. The minute the heavy doors to the temple creaked open, and he saw the flames licking the edges of the walls, dread solidified in his gut. The smoke suffocated him, but not as much as the lyrium invading his every sense. 

They entered the inner-room of the shrine, but Cullen had little hope Samson would be there. When he saw the shadow of a figure through the darkness and smoke, he hurried forward. 

“Maker-,” he said aloud, immediately falling to one knee in front of the slumped man he’d found. When he lifted his head and met Cullen’s eyes with a blank gaze, the recognition was immediate. 

Maddox. His face was paler than Cullen remembered, and he had heavy circles under his eyes. 

“Something’s wrong,” Cullen said, as he heard Ellana crouch beside him. “I’ll send for the healers.” 

Maddox finally spoke, voice weak. “That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen.” 

He flinched at the invocation of his name. “I’m not-,” 

Maddox gestured to an empty vial beside him. “I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won’t be long now.” 

“What?” Cullen began, brow arched in. “No—Maddox, we only wanted to ask you some questions.” 

“That is what I could not allow,” he replied. “I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape.” 

Cullen inhaled a sharp breath, but the smoke burned his lungs. Such _loyalty_. It almost sickened him, or maybe most of all he was frustrated because he did not understand their love for their general. 

“You threw your lives away?” he demanded incredulously. “For _Samson_? Why?”

Maddox cocked his head. “Samson saved me even before he needed me. He gave me purpose again.” 

Cullen clenched his fist. Katria’s words thrown in his face—she was right about how Samson affected other people, but she was _not_ right about Samson’s moral character. 

Maddox cleared his throat weakly. “Please give my regards to Katria. She…was there for me, too, and I wish…” His chin dropped to his chest. “I wanted…to…help,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the sound of the fire around them. Maddox’s frail frame slumped over more as he released his final breath. 

Cullen instinctively pitched forward, but he knew there was nothing they could do. He felt a small hand on his knee. 

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” Ellana said. 

“It’s-,” He shook his head sharply. “It’s fine. We should search the camp in case Maddox missed something.” 

Ellana followed him as he stood and spoke after a few moments--she asked a question he did not want to give an answer to. “How did Maddox know Katria?” 

Cullen walked across the room. His foot clinked against a pile of lyrium bottles, licked clean. “I told you how Maddox…became Tranquil,” he began, looking away. “In addition to Samson, Katria helped him smuggle letters out of the Gallows through her work making weapons for the Templars.” He knelt down and clenched his jaw. “Maddox apparently never forgot Samson. I guess he wouldn’t forget her either.” 

Ellana shuffled through a stack of papers on a half-burned table. “That’s why Katria hated you so much when you first got here.” 

“Er—yes,” he said. “Among other reasons.” 

She glanced over at him. “And yet you two were sleeping together.” 

“I told you it didn’t mean anything,” Cullen replied immediately. 

Ellana wiped a streak of dirt and blood from her armor. “It had to have meant something,” she said, then turned completely. “Did you agree with my decision? When I exiled her?” 

“I-,” He paused, considering. There would be no utility to disagreeing with her. “Of course.” 

She frowned slightly. “You don’t have to lie.” 

He swallowed—the pounding in his head would make some stupid truth burst out of him. “Inquisitor, I’m not sure this is a good time for-,” 

“Then just answer the question honestly,” she interjected. “It’s not that hard.” 

“I-,” He made a frustrated noise; his back was to her as he examined the debris around them. He clenched his fist and looked over his shoulder at her. 

“I miss her, okay?” Cullen snapped. “I miss-,” He put his hand to his temple where his blood was pulsing. “Maker, never mind. I’m going to search in the other room.” 

Ellana did not saying anything, though she could feel his eyes following him as he walked. He staggered to one side when he passed through the door, pain lancing through him like the pain from his withdrawal, but concentrated, distilled to an intensity he hadn’t felt before. 

Maker, he did not want to think about Katria in this dangerous environment. Not ever, really, but especially not _now_. When his head was killing him, when he was tired, when the frustration of losing Samson ate away at him. 

Katria brought his life in Kirkwall back to him—reminded him of all he'd done wrong and the terror he felt after leaving Ferelden. Maddox did the same. And they _both_ had admiration for a man he hated to his very core. Perhaps the worst part was that he’d never see _either_ of them again. 

===

The red lyrium that infested Samson’s lair obviously had an effect on Cullen. It made him far too emotional, incapable of thinking straight. That is the reason why he was foolish enough to tell Ellana that he missed Katria. An incorrect statement. A _lie_.

Even if it was the truth, it was an inconsequential one because she was gone. Ellana had given her judgment as Inquisitor, and there was no changing it. Katria did not want interaction or redemption—she apparently only desired to drink herself into oblivion as she made her way further and further away from him. It was a prospect he told himself he did not care about. 

Their trip back to Skyhold from the Shrine of Dumat was swift and Cullen was glad for it. He had felt worse than ever as of late. His headaches were relentless, his tremors more violent. If he was being honest, it probably was because he pushed himself too hard at the Shrine. He should have turned back to get some fresh air, to be free from the pervasive stench of the worst kind of lyrium, but he stayed. Because he had to. Because it was his duty. 

In the days after, when he laid in his tent unable to sleep, seeing Maddox’s blank expression every time he closed his eyes, he had never wished so badly that Katria was there. 

Back at Skyhold, things were busy. The headaches slowly got better, but one afternoon an ache hit him with debilitating force. It made him sit at his desk slumped over when he much preferred to stand. When he read a report, the words were fuzzy and warped. He eventually put them aside and tried to massage his temples. 

As Cullen sat with his elbows on his knees, his stomach grumbled. A gurgling noise that reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day. He lifted his head, peering out the window because he was fairly certain this was exactly the time of day when an attendant came by with a tray of food and tea. One that Ellana had ordered brought to him after the first time he’d shared the trouble he was having with lyrium. Katria had seen him in that state, too, and it still clenched his gut to think how terrible he’d been to her. 

Cullen ignored his hunger and his various other aches in favor of continuing to work. A few hours later, when still no attendant came, he wondered if Ellana had ordered the kitchen to stop. Was she upset with him? Had his false admission about missing Katria upset her so much she retracted her gesture of kindness? 

With a quick shake of his head, he tried to divest himself of such thoughts. Still, the idea gnawed at him because he did not want Ellana to be angry with him and perhaps he had overstepped his bounds by admitting to still harbor sentiment for someone Ellana disavowed. 

That evening Cullen ventured to the kitchens. It was late enough that there was no food out in the Great Hall, and he wouldn’t want to be seen there anyway. There would be far too great of an opportunity to get roped into another one of Varric’s card games. 

Cullen climbed up the stairs from the courtyard that led to the kitchen area. It was mostly empty and dark, except for the faint light from the large, crackling fire.

He recognized one of the people setting up a tray on the massive wood table off to the side—it was the young man who used to deliver his tray every afternoon. The attendant noticed him too, and he snapped to attention with his eyes wide. 

“Commander,” he said. “Can I help you?” 

“Sorry to disturb you,” Cullen replied. “I only needed something to eat.” He paused and then lifted his hand to his neck. “I—hope you don’t mind me inquiring about this, but did the Inquisitor ask you to no longer deliver tea to my office in the afternoon?” 

The boy’s brow wrinkled. “The Inquisitor?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Did she ask you to stop?” 

He set his tray down on the table. “I stopped because I thought it would be…inappropriate given recent events.” 

Cullen rested his hand on his sword. “I don’t understand.” 

“The judgment?” the boy replied, waving his hand as if the answer was obvious. “Scout Trevelyan’s exile? I assumed all her orders were moot, including when she asked me to bring you all that.” 

“Wait,” he cut in. “You mean to say that Katria Trevelyan was the one who asked you to deliver tea to me?” 

“Yes sir,” he said with a nod. “She asked me not to tell you about it. Said it was for your health. That you’d forget to eat at a decent hour if left to your own devices.” 

“But-,” Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Are you _sure_ we’re referring to the same person? Perhaps the Inquisitor asked Scout Trevelyan on her behalf.” 

He shrugged. “It didn’t seem like it, otherwise Scout Trevelyan would have said,” he replied. “I think she just wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself.” 

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered, lowering his head. 

“I—I can start back up again, if you’d like,” the boy suggested meekly. “I only stopped because…you know…” 

“No, it’s fine,” Cullen replied; he was in a daze as he turned towards the door.

He hurried down the stairs, walking fast enough in some absurd hope that the thoughts swirling around him wouldn’t catch up to him. 

“Maker,” he said aloud after a heavy sigh left him. 

The whole situation…made no sense. Why would Katria care about his well-being like that? Why hadn’t she _said_ anything to him? 

His mind quickly supplied that answer: he wouldn’t have believed her even if she _had_ told him. Katria spent her time waiting and denying, which was her fault, but nothing she said in that dungeon would have convinced Cullen she was telling the truth about her feelings. Nothing would have cured the hurt in that moment. 

In the past few weeks, Cullen had taken comfort in knowing that Katria had not cared for him. He did not lose anything by her departure. Perhaps he had feelings for her, and it was embarrassing to be tricked that way, but it had been over once she and her horse galloped out of Skyhold. 

And now what? He clearly still felt something for her—whose comfort did he crave the most when he was in pain? Hers. And it’s entirely possible that _she_ cared for him; if their relationship was meant to be purely physical, she would not do little, domestic favors to ensure he remained in good health. 

Cullen was halfway across the courtyard when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Ellana jog up to him. 

“I’ve been calling your name for like a minute, Cullen,” she said as she cocked her head. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly. “And I apologize. Is everything alright?” 

“Morrigan has pinpointed a more precise location for Corypheus,” Ellana explained. “The Arbor Wilds. I’d like to begin preparations to march our troops there.” 

“Absolutely, Inquisitor,” he said. “Dagna continues to study Maddox’s tools and should have a way to disarm Samson by the time we depart.” 

Ellana smiled slightly. “Good work, Commander.” 

“Thank you,” Cullen replied, then shifted slightly. He was eager to begin the process of organizing his men and not thinking about Katria. Or her niceness. Or anything _else_. 

He wanted to be proud of his work—proud that Samson was so close to being captured, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his professional success, his vendetta against Samson, wouldn’t make him really, truly happy. No, Katria did that, or _could_ do that, but she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, y'all! This time of year is kind of hectic for me, but I will try my best to continue to have chapters! (Cause each and every one of you is awesome!)


	30. Chapter 30

They were following her. Hovering around the fringes of her sight like mosquitos she couldn’t swat away.

The scouts sent by the Inquisitor to trail Katria on her way to the Free Marches became more impatient as time passed. The slower she traveled, the more she drank, the closer they got. Neither of the two actually approached her, but she noticed them. 

They wanted her to move faster—exile was not supposed to be a process that involved becoming intimately familiar with every tavern she passed on the way north to Lake Calenhad. 

Katria did not care. What could they possibly do? Kill her? Probably, but why in the Maker’s name would that matter? She had nothing to offer the world but destruction, and it’s not as if she was too eager to return to the Free Marches. 

“Another.” 

Katria’s head was bowed, her eyes scanning the wood grain of the table in front of her, but she heard the clink of glass as the bartender passed. 

“You sure?” 

She pushed her empty tumbler forward more. “I don’t think I stuttered.” 

The bartender disappeared with her glass, and Katria sat waiting, slumped against the back wall of some tavern. It was late—hours after midnight—so the other patrons around her were reduced to quiet murmurs among dwindling candles. 

Her refilled drink was plunked down and she reached out for it. Her blood was pulsing loud in her ears; everything else was fuzzy, her senses eroded to their most primal base.  
It was as if she blinked and her glass was empty, bitter liquid down her throat. 

_You’ve had too much to drink_ , Cassandra would say, a little disapproving wrinkle between her well-groomed eyebrows. 

_Just let her have some fun_ , Dorian would insist—probably because he was matching her sip for sip. 

Some absurd story from Varric, the best kind, where he’d raise his arms high and exuberantly, making him seem twice his size. 

Ellana’s wide, brilliant smile. The way she laughed and wielded her staff so much more expertly after Katria had taught her how. 

Katria’s stomach churned, and she put the heel of her palm against one eye. She would make no more memories like that—she had no more friends. No more Cullen either. Whatever he was. Whatever he could have been. 

“Hey,” a gruff voice said from beside her. “You getting a room?” 

She glanced over and pushed back the curtain of hair in front of her face. Even more time had passed now—she could hardly keep track. The burly tavern owner was there, one hand on his hip, frowning because he probably knew she had no money. 

Katria reached down to the pouch at her waist; her fingers fumbled with nothing but air. She’d sold most of her supplies—the ones Ellana had provided her with before she left Skyhold. She was thinking of selling her horse. It would get her a large chunk of coin, but Leliana’s spies might take issue with that. 

“I don’t have any money,” Katria said. 

The man snorted. “I think it’s time for you to leave then, lass.” 

When she did not move, he grabbed her by her arm and hoisted her up. She staggered sideways, the room wobbling on its axis as she was dragged towards the door. 

“Wait,” she said. “I can-,” 

He shoved her out onto the street before she could finish, and she crashed to her knees, arms outstretched and landing in a puddle that sent mud splashing over her. 

A pathetic, worst case scenario. Laying there, too drunk to walk straight, penniless, and now covered in dirt. 

Katria took a few heaving breaths and then dragged herself to her feet. She was dizzy and it was pitch black, so she stumbled down the road towards a faint light. The closer she got, the clearer the dilapidated structure of the stable beside the tavern became. 

Her arm flung out, scrabbling clumsily against a wood column. She collapsed against it and onto her knees. There was a pile of straw nearby that she flopped onto. 

She curled up into a ball, listening blithely to the sounds of horses shifting and snorting in the stalls all around her. She didn’t notice the smell, only the cold. The icy chill that funneled through the narrow, open space. She had considered selling her coat, but was glad she hadn’t. 

Her knees scooted higher towards her chest, and she buried her head down more. 

Cullen occupied her thoughts most of all. The way the sunlight had fallen across his cheek from his roof as he slept, the stupid smirk on his face when he played chess. Maker, would it even have mattered if she told him she cared? Wouldn’t he have spurned her after what happened with Ellana anyway?

She groaned because she shouldn’t have thought of him. She shouldn’t have drank so much. Should have left more quickly. 

Shouldn’t have joined the Inquisition in the first place. 

===

Katria was already cold, so the rapid, sharp shock of icy water being thrown against her made her eyes fly open. She sputtered and tumbled forward as she was wrenched violently from her slumber, though most of her breath had left her. 

The cold lifted and was replaced by a splitting headache—a pain through her entire body, really. She pulled her knees up and rested one hand against her temple. 

“I told you to get lost, lass.” 

Katria leaned back, throwing her angry glare up at the tavern owner. He was holding his empty bucket at his side with a scowl, barely visible in the bright morning light. 

“My horse is here,” she said. 

He gestured over to it. “And you’ve got no money to pay for a room or anything else. Time for you to go.” 

She narrowed her eyes. She remembered Fereldens being a little nicer the last time she traveled. 

“Yeah, I get it,” she said impatiently. As she tried to stand, her stomach growled, insistent, though she had no means to satisfy it. 

Katria looked down at herself once she was on her feet—her coat and tunic were crusted with dirt. She didn’t remember falling. 

“I’ll come back for the horse as soon as I’m cleaned up,” she said. 

“Fine,” the man said gruffly. “Just hurry.” 

She muttered some obscenities under her breath as she passed him. The area in front of the tavern was busy now—cluttered with people, horses, merchants and travelers passing through. She meant to follow the road down to the river, but she only made it a few steps before she was stopped. 

One man, one woman, Inquisition buttons glinting on their shoulders, the silvery tint mocking her. They were Leliana’s agents, so she knew their names. They were her comrades once, even. 

Katria raised an eyebrow. “You had orders not to interact with me.” 

The man, Crowson, crossed his arms. “You had orders of exile. To the Free Marches. Not to loiter in Ferelden drinking all your coin away.” 

“I’ve traveled north,” Katria protested. 

“Barely,” his partner Miller replied. “You’re stalling.” 

“I’m not,” she said tersely, frowning. 

Crowson ran his hand through his hair. “Listen, Trevelyan, we’re not trying to be difficult-,” 

“Could have fooled me,” she muttered under her breath. 

He huffed. “Leliana has sent us orders to ensure you are moving at a more rapid pace. We are authorized to use force.” 

Katria’s brow furrowed. “Leliana contacted you? Did she say anything about the Inquisitor?” 

“Why would you care?” Miller asked, a sharpness in her voice—she was the blunt one out of the two of them. 

“I-,” Katria stopped, shutting her mouth once coherent words didn’t materialize in her mind. She supposed it really didn’t make sense for her to be concerned about Ellana’s well-being. That bridge had been burned between them. 

She’d never wanted something to be fixed so badly, though. 

“The Inquisitor forced me to leave,” Katria finally said. “It wasn’t my choice.” 

“Is that why you’re trying to stick around?” Crowson asked. “You think she’ll change her mind.” 

“No,” she said. “I mean…” She rubbed the side of her neck. She had never even considered the possibility that Ellana would forgive her. There was no other direction to her life other than running away. 

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks,” Miller interjected. “The Inquisitor gave you orders, Leliana gave _us_ orders, and if you don’t keep moving to the Free Marches, we’re going to have a problem.”

Katria folded her arms. She had plenty of problems already. “I get it,” she said. “I’ll try to keep moving.” 

“You will keep moving,” Miller replied. “And stop drinking so much.” 

“Ellana never ordered me to do that,” Katria pointed out. 

“You can do whatever you’d like,” Crowson said, raising one hand. “But no matter what, you have to leave.” 

Katria clenched her jaw. “I will.” She marched forward and squeezed between them to make her way further down the road. They did not pursue her. 

Halfway to the river, Katria realized she was clenching her fists so hard her nails were making small crests in her palms. She had been doing such a good job keeping all these thorny emotions at bay—pushing them aside and not thinking about what it meant that she was just walking away and returning to nothing. Being a mercenary again because she had no other skills. Not having a home. Letting Ellana spend the rest of her life being hurt by her betrayal.

Weeks had passed, and she’d refused to acknowledge all of that, and instead worsened her life further by spending away any coin or good fortune she had left in some pathetic attempt to forget her mistakes. 

Katria veered off the road—the river was close by and she peeled off her coat in the hopes of throwing it into the water. Except that there was small cadre of people nearby letting their horses drink, and she stopped upon seeing them. 

They were dressed mostly in leather, with blue tunics underneath—all matching, telling Katria they were probably some religious or mercenary group. Supplies were piled on their horses and one caravan; supplies with Inquisition heraldry on them. 

Katria trotted over to them on the river bank. One dark-haired man was stooped down and stood as she approached. She was covered in mud, hair a tangled mess, so he did not smile at her because her appearance was not exactly that of some pleasant villager. 

“Who are you?” he asked wearily. 

She hesitated. “My name is Katria,” she eventually said. “I’m a…wanderer of sorts. Are you all with the Inquisition?” 

The man was quick to correct her. “We serve the Herald of Andraste alone,” he said. “I am Alerin.” 

Katria furrowed her brow, then noticed the dried but still visible water stains on their supplies and imbedded in their leather armor, the fact that they were all matching—

“You’re the Blades of Hessarian,” she said. “From the Storm Coast?” 

Katria had not been with Ellana when she had gone to the Storm Coast the first time, but remembered Leliana sending correspondence to them asking for information in months after. 

“Yes,” he replied, brow furrowed. “How would you know that?” 

Katria paused. “The Inquisition is the name on everyone’s lips,” she said with a shrug. “And so are the names of everyone who fights for the Herald of Andraste.” 

“What of you?” he asked. “Are you someone who fights for the Inquisition?” 

“I’d like to be,” she said. “Are you headed somewhere on orders?” 

He regarded her wearily. “Surely you’ve heard that the Herald and her troops march for the Arbor Wilds.” 

“Another battle?” she said reflexively, while dread solidified in her gut. Maker, it terrified her to think her friends were pushing forward in combat, and she was not around to protect them. Her mistakes sickened her now, but if something happened to Ellana out there—Katria’s life had felt useless, worthless even, for weeks, but _that_ would be unconscionable. Ellana or Cullen or Dorian or even Cassandra dying while she sat in some tavern moping. 

She let out a short breath, heart rate soaring, because she _had_ to go. She could not continue to run if her friends could get hurt. If Cullen could get hurt. 

“The Herald fights bravely to save us all, and we will join her in that glory,” Alerin said. 

Katria tried to soothe down her hair, thinking. Surely the Blades wouldn’t let her accompany them to the Arbor Wilds on a whim—and yet that’s what she needed. To hop into their small covered caravan and conceal herself from Crowson and Miller, who would undoubtedly have lots of things to say if they discovered her plan to return to the Inquisitor instead of stay in exile. 

And yet at the same time, Katria couldn’t avail herself to these highly-religious men because she did not know a _single_ line from the Chant or anything remotely religious about Andraste. For once—and only once—she regretted not paying attention to all those lectures she received about the Chantry as a child of the devout Trevelyan line. 

“I—don’t know much about Andraste,” Katria eventually admitted. “But I’ve made…mistakes, and I’m in need of some guidance. A cause.” 

Alerin crossed his arms. “Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever, but the one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker’s law and creations, she shall know the peace of the Maker’s benediction.” 

Katria cleared her throat. “That’s—er, great,” she said. “The Chant-,”

“Canticle of Transfigurations,” he said. 

“Right. Excellent,” she replied. “Well, sign me up. For that.” 

Alerin gave her a skeptical look, and Katria quickly raised one hand, palm facing him. “Sorry—it’s just, like I said, I’m not used to navigating this whole… _repentance_ thing, but I want to try.” 

He crossed his arms. “And what does the Inquisition have to do with that? Or us, for that matter?” 

“I need a way to travel to the Arbor Wilds,” Katria explained. “I need to fight for the right cause because—I’ve never really picked a side before or cared to stick around _anywhere_. I don’t want glory or fame, though I’m sure you think that. I want to keep trying to do good, even if it kills me, because the alternative isn’t worth anything. And I want to do good with the right people.” 

“I suspect you are not just a simple wanderer, then?” he asked. 

“Wanderer, no,” she admitted. “Katria is my name though, and it seems like-,” She gestured vaguely. “It seems like you lot are in the business of forgiveness. Or facilitating it. Because Hessarian, right? He converted and-,” 

“He ordered Andraste’s death by fire and then drove a sword through her heart to end her suffering,” Alerin finished. 

Katria was glad he completed her sentence because _he converted_ was the basis of her knowledge of Hessarian.

“See?” she said. “I…I too have ordered death by fire and am ready with my blade to repent. Metaphorically.” She cocked her head. “Well, I am _literally_ ready with my blade, but the death by fire is a metaphor for my mis-,” 

“I get it,” Alerin said, then his eyes searched her face. “You are…very odd.” 

“Charming usually,” she countered. “But there are just a…few categories of conversation where I do not excel. So in addition to religious history, please don’t ask me about my feelings.” 

Alerin shook his head. “If all you wish is passage with us to the Arbor Wilds, I will allow it. But we will provide you with no weapons.” 

“I understand,” Katria said, and though she did not mention it to the Andrastian, she could easily find weapons and…discreetly take them in the Inquisition camp or even after defeating a Warden or Templar. “And thank you.” 

Alerin nodded once. “We would not be serving Andraste truly if we did not help those in need and seeking faith. Come. I will introduce you to the others.” 

Katria followed him, heart thumping more rapidly in her chest as she realized that she was once again in dangerous territory—she was not dragging her feet in exile, she was defying Ellana’s orders. If she appeared in the Arbor Wilds, Ellana might think the worst and kill her without hesitation.

A risk Katria steeled herself against with a slow breath and a reminder that the alternative was living a life not worth much. She had found her home and destroyed it, then fled because the work rebuilding those relationships terrified her. But just because it was scary, or it might not work, did not mean she shouldn’t try. Or at least use her dying breath defending her friends and doing the right thing. 

===

The Arbor Wilds was simultaneously the most beautiful and terrible place Cullen had ever been to. The forest was rich with emerald foliage and exotic birds—a landscape soon splattered with the blood of their enemies and red lyrium. Upon their arrival, the crisp, untouched air was soiled by smoke in a matters of hours. 

Morrigan was the most concerned with the destruction—Cullen was focused instead on surviving and emerging victorious, along with capturing Samson.

Against his better judgment, Cullen moved with a small group of his men through the red Templars blockades to the front of the temple Corypheus had last been seen near. Samson was reported present as well, but to Cullen’s dismay, when they arrived he was nowhere in sight. 

Cullen had not slept a full night since they arrived; anytime his body cried out from fatigue, he reminded himself to keep pushing. The Commander couldn’t stop, not at a time like this. 

A contingent of red Templars broke through the line of foliage beside the temple—more warriors than he’d like along with archers who hurried to the broken arches that provided higher ground for them. 

Engaging in battle with red Templars was its own peculiar type of torture for Cullen—the lyrium growing out of them seared into his senses, dizzying because even months after he’d stopped, lyrium was always something he wanted. Worse, though, was knowing that he was running his sword through men that he once could have known. Been friends with. He tried to convince himself that these Templars were long stripped of their humanity, yet from time to time the glint in their eyes was sometimes too real for him to believe that. 

A warrior hugged in close to Cullen and their shields clacked together—the muscles in his arm tensed and began to shake. He was tired, but swung his sword around anyway just as their shields separated. The Templar staggered sideways, and Cullen quickly jabbed again. He knew Templar armor too well, and his sword plunged into the reddish, veiny flesh of the warrior’s waist. 

“Commander!” 

Cullen spun around in time to see another Templar’s weapon arcing high in the air over him. He lunged to one side and narrowly missed the sharp edge. He lifted his shield to block another blow, but his arm crumpled in at the force of it, and he stumbled back. 

He was in a bit of trouble—his sword was indisposed, and his shield could hardly block in its current state. 

In the very next second, Cullen heard the _thunk_ of a knife, and then his opponent dropped out of view and into the wide rivets of water all around them. A dagger had hit the man in the eye, right in the thin sliver of the opening in his helmet. Not the kind of shot just _anyone_ could make. 

Cullen spun around—and saw Katria Trevelyan standing a few feet from him with one dagger remaining in her hand. Her lip drew up in a small smile because _of course_ she found absurd things like this entertaining. 

“You’re welcome for that,” she said. 

He hardly registered her words because she—Katria was _right there_. After weeks of absence, it was...her. Standing. With her brown hair and that scar and her well-defined brows over eyes that had done nothing but deceive him. His gaze flicked around, but the other Templars were dead—all he could hear were the distant sounds of metal clanging and shouting from further up the blockade.

Cullen yanked his sword out from the dead Templar and leveled it in her direction. 

“You’re not here with Samson,” he said—Maker, he _prayed_ it. 

She slid her dagger into her belt. “I’m not,” she said. 

Cullen did not lower his weapon even as she walked closer. “Why should I believe you?” he demanded. 

Katria made a frustrated noise. “Damn it, Cullen, I’m _not_! You know I’m not, so stop denying it just because you’re trying to be practical!” 

His arm dropped to his side. “That still doesn’t explain what in the Void you’re doing here.” 

She looked towards the temple. “I want to fight.” 

“You were exiled,” Cullen replied. “And the Inquisitor is going to be here at any moment.” 

“That’s why _I’m_ here now,” Katria said. 

He ran his hand through his hair. “You really think you’re going to convince her of anything?” 

She stepped closer, one fist clenched. “I have to try,” she insisted. “I have to. I can’t—keep quitting. I’m not going to run when I can fix this.” 

“Ellana could kill you on sight,” he said. 

“Maybe she will,” Katria replied. “But what point would my life have if I’d left the Inquisition anyway? I have no one.” 

Cullen tightened his hand around his sword. “This is insane.” 

She met his gaze and swallowed. “Do you think—are you…” 

“I-,” 

He was cut off when a chunk of ice whooshed past him and slammed into Katria’s chest, throwing her backwards into the water. 

“Katria!” Cullen exclaimed, before he twisted on his heel with his sword raised. 

Ellana stood in a defensive pose, staff glowing and pointing in Katria’s direction before she spun it around her hand and straightened. Her hair was slick with dirt and blood from their long fight through the blockades. 

“What is going on?” she demanded angrily. 

Katria lifted herself up on one elbow and clutched her chest. She let out a series of coughs. “Ow,” she muttered. “Not exactly the greeting I was expecting.” 

Cullen raised a hand to Ellana. “She’s not here with Samson.” 

“You believe that?” Ellana asked acridly. “She bats her eyelashes and tells you she isn’t-,” 

Katria sat up and then staggered to her feet. “Stop using the fact that I care for Cullen as a crutch to insist I’m a bad person. He’s not foolish for trusting me.” 

“I might beg to differ on that,” Ellana said with a frown. 

Katria walked over to her, coat dripping wet. “Well then I want to change your mind. I don’t want to give up.” 

“This isn’t a _negotiation_ ,” Ellana growled. “I exiled you. You don’t get to _choose_ to come back.” 

“I do, actually,” Katria said. “I mean, theoretically.” 

Ellana crossed her arms, unimpressed. 

Katria ran her hand through her hair—it didn’t do much, just tangled it more. “My choice to come back was not about disrespecting you,” she said. “If you want to kill me, go ahead.” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Really?” she said sarcastically. 

Katria looked down; the intensity of emotion in her voice was obviously disquieting her. “My life in exile, in the Free Marches, it wouldn’t-,” She clenched her jaw. “It would be worthless. I made something with you and the Inquisition. I don’t know if I can salvage it all, but…” Her soft snort ruffled the hair falling across her face. “I figure I don’t have anything to lose at this point.” 

Katria was not looking at Cullen, but his lip curled up in a faint smile in her direction anyway. 

Ellana was quiet for a few moments, lips pursed. “That was a quaint speech,” she said, then gestured out around them. “But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of a battle and don’t have time for emotional pleasantries.” 

Katria unsheathed her dagger and spun it around her finger. Her feet hardly made a sound as she walked through the water. 

“That’s the other side, you see,” she said. “I’m not just sitting around hoping you’ll forgive me. You’ve got a war to win, and I can help with that.” 

“I’m not sure we need any more of your version of _help_ ,” Ellana snapped. 

“You do,” Katria said immediately, another step closer. “I might not be…particularly studious or severe and-,” Her eyes flicked over to Cullen—it was a fraction of a glance, maybe less. “I am emotionally incompetent. Unworthy even-,” 

“You also don’t have _any_ sense of style,” Dorian interjected. 

Katria threw an angry glare in his direction before snapping her neck back around to Ellana. “My point is that I am good at fighting. Protecting you or other mages on their flanks, backing Cass or Blackwall up. I am-,” She raised her dagger. “I am the best, and you know it. You can trust me. You know you can.” 

Cullen knew it too. He was not willing to admit anything in the way of _feelings_ for Katria, but he was willing to admit that they were in battle, fighting for their lives, and if there’s anyone he thought had enough skill to help them win, it was her. 

Ellana, not impractical, unfolded her arms, brow smoothing out. “You want to come into the temple?” 

“I swear myself to your service and will defend my life with yours,” Katria replied. “Or—however this stuff works.” 

Ellana shifted on her feet. The gaze she leveled in Katria’s direction was neither hard nor soft—thoughtful, maybe. What he expected from the Inquisitor he knew. She did not look to anyone else for guidance before she spoke. 

“You may accompany us into the temple, Trevelyan,” Ellana said. Her expression sharpened. “If I suspect a _hint_ of dishonesty, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Katria replied with a nod. 

Ellana finally turned to Cullen. “I suppose I should ask the Commander of my Inquisition if it’s acceptable for Scout Trevelyan to fight among your men.” 

Cullen shifted and cleared his throat. “I—she’s…fine. Rather, _it’s_ fine. Whatever you chose, Inquisitor.” 

Katria turned to him and took two steps. She had an intense look in those murky blue eyes and then her hand was reaching for his blood-splattered coat. 

She yanked him forward, and he thought—well, he would not admit what he thought she was going to do because in less than a second an arrow whizzed by his shoulder and narrowly missed him. She had pulled him out of the line of fire, nothing else. 

Katria released him immediately and yanked out a knife, but the Templar archer aiming at them already had an arrow courtesy of Varric lodged in his chest. 

Cullen spun around and saw another group of red Templars and Wardens hurrying towards them. 

“Spread out!” Ellana ordered, her words followed by the hiss of her magical barrier settling over them. 

Katria hurled a dagger in their direction once they were close enough. 

“Did you think I was going to kiss you?” she asked. 

Cullen ducked as a sword swung in his direction, and his shield slammed into a red Templar shadow that tried to jab him on his other side with its lyrium arm. He clocked it in the face with the butt of his sword while Katria buried her dagger in the warrior who had attacked him. 

“Why would-,” Cullen raised his shield when an arrow barreled towards them. It made a sharp _clang_ against the metal. “We do not have time for this discussion!” 

Katria had hunkered near his shield to protect herself from the arrow. She lifted her chin to him. “Would you have let me if I was going to?” she asked.

Ellana’s voice rang out strangled across the open space. “We need to get into the temple!” she exclaimed. 

Katria and Cullen both turned to her. “Go,” Cullen ordered in a stern voice because he refused to allow himself to think further about the fact that maybe he _wanted_ Katria to kiss him. 

She smiled slightly. “Think on it,” she said. 

“Not any time soon,” he replied. “Be safe.”

Her eyes widened a little in surprise as she stepped back. “You too.” 

A loud boom echoed past the shouts and clang of metal soon after a heavy cloud of smoke rose up just around the corner. Katria turned from him and splashed through the water towards Ellana and the others who were gathering at the doors of the temple. Ellana gave her a weary look when she joined them, but Cullen was glad for it—the Inquisitor would need as much protection as possible against Samson. And—

And maybe part of him even trusted Katria would do the right thing this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in posting! Things have been pretty crazy lately, but I hope to keep chugging along! Thank y'all for your patience and support, it means a lot!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!!! Still in that busy time of year, but I managed to write this over the last few weeks, so I figured I'd set it free! I do sincerely apologize for the delays.

The chain of events that occurred as soon as they entered the Temple greatly deterred Ellana from throwing any further malevolent glares Katria’s way. Corypheus resurrecting himself, Samson escaping, and mysterious elves attacking them around every corner made Ellana turn slightly pale and focus on moving forward as opposed to whether or not she trusted Katria. 

Ellana decided to complete the rituals Morrigan had explained to them while Cassandra waited impatiently in the background with a frown. Katria was not as disapproving—this was certainly a mysterious place and perhaps there was something to be gleaned from jumping through these hoops. Anything to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. 

When they entered the main chamber of the Temple, Katria was not surprised to be faced with another very serious, brooding elf. Being bald and academic and melancholy was something their new friend Abelas and Solas had in common. Solas seemed even happier than Ellana to be in the Temple, which did not surprise her. 

After Ellana conversed with the others, they were lead through a maze of hallways listening to the din of battle between the red Templars and the ancient elves. Eventually, the narrow space opened up to a set of stairs and past that, a massive open, forest-like space like they encountered outside the doors. When Katria peeked over the balcony and down, she spotted Samson’s dark hair as he directed his men. Even from her high vantage point, she could see that he looked very different from the man who she had left behind in Kirkwall. 

Katria turned back and hunkered down slightly. “What’s our plan with Samson’s armor?” 

Ellana touched one of the pouches at her waist. “Dagna crafted a rune to disable it. It acts on the median fissures of the armor.” 

She rubbed her forehead because she really had no idea what that meant. “How close do you have to get to him?” 

“Fairly close, I think,” Ellana admitted. 

Katria held out her hand. “Give it to me then.” 

Ellana physically recoiled and gave a short snort. “You can’t be serious.” 

She drew up to her full height. “You are a mage, and once his armor is disabled, Samson will attack right away. That leaves you incredibly vulnerable. Samson knows me-,” 

“Because you betrayed _us_ ,” Ellana snapped.

“Now is not the time for this,” Katria insisted. “The rune will activate either way, won’t it? As soon as I’m in range? I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to, and Samson will allow me to get closer than anyone else. The space is too open for any of us to sneak up on him. Let me have a chance to talk.” 

Ellana tightened her grip on her staff until her knuckles were white. “That doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

Katria shook her outstretched hand. “I’m not asking you to be my friend, Ellana. Or to repair anything. I want to protect you. I deserve this chance.” 

Ellana’s hazel eyes narrowed, guarded. She waited a few moments, but when she heard the crash of metal below them, she made a frustrated noise and thrust the glowing rune into Katria’s hand. 

“Hurry,” she ordered, and they sailed down the stairs with the others and around the corner. The slap of their feet against the crooked pavement ceased when they got close enough. 

Samson was not facing them in the open courtyard and was gesturing proudly to his men.

“You tough bastards!” he exclaimed. “Day’s march, hours of fighting, and still fierce as dragons. Chantry never knew what it was throwing away.”

A red Templar archer noticed them and pointed behind his shoulder. 

“Samson, sir, watch out!”

Samson spun around and smiled crookedly. Closer now, Katria could see how sallow his skin was, his hair thinner, eyes bloodshot. Ravaged by the red lyrium but also empowered by it. His eyes fell on Katria, and they had an angry glint, but he was clearly more interested in Ellana, which was not surprising. 

“Inquisitor,” he began. “You’ve got a damn long reach. We come to the back end of nowhere and here you are.”

Ellana leaned slightly against her staff, clearly ready to strike. “We destroyed your base of operations, Samson. It’s time to surrender. Corypheus will only cast you aside.” 

Samson shook his head. “No, Corypheus chose me _twice_. Once as his general and now as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows.” He pointed up the stone steps behind him leading up. “You know what’s inside the well?” 

Katria walked forward, a few feet in front of Ellana and closer to Samson. “Other than water, you mean?”

“ _Wisdom_ ,” he said. “The kind of wisdom that can scour a world. I give it to Corypheus and he can walk into the Fade without the Anchor.” Samson studied her as his bloodless lips pressed into a thinner line. “I thought _you_ had wisdom, Trevelyan.”

“A great sense of humor, definitely,” she said. “But who’s to say I’m not also wise-,”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear about your judgment,” Samson snapped. “You swore you had no allegiance to the Inquisition, and I believed you because I thought you knew better than to associate with the Chantry. Cullen. Better than anyone, after you saw what they did.” 

Katria threw out her hand. “I stand with Cullen and the Chantry only because our current opponent—your _boss_ —wants to destroy the _world_.”

“A world not worth saving,” he spat. “You’ve seen what it did to us. You were my friend-,” 

Another step and she turned her arm so her palm was facing him. “I _am_ your friend. The Inquisitor is right—Corypheus will cast you out when he’s done with you. Just like the Chantry.” 

He pointed his sword at her, but she did not move. “Do not spin _lies_.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Katria insisted. “If you surrender now, then-,” 

“Then I die?” he finished acridly. “I get locked away? Let my men down? They are counting on me, and your Inquisitor will exterminate them. She’s a mage.” 

“I know the red Templars aren’t evil,” she said. “Just like you aren’t.” 

Samson’s lip drew up in a smirk. “You think you can appease me, Trevelyan? When you and your Inquisitor are no match against me?” 

“You’re giving my skill too little credit,” Katria said.

He laughed, low and gravelly. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Being force-fed Chantry lyrium was good for something. This armor makes me a living fortress. Mind and body.”

Katria reached back to where she had put the rune in her belt, while the stone under her feet rattled. Samson clenched his fist—the red fissures on his armor flared, the power in it evident and prickling her skin. 

“This is the strength the Chantry tried to bind,” he said. “But it’s a new world now. With a new god.” 

Katria stepped even closer while Samson preened over his armor. She could feel the rune glowing hot, responding to the magic swirling around him. She held it in her hand in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Samson,” she said, because she knew Ellana intended to kill him and—well, she wasn’t sure he deserved that. 

The rune glowed brighter, and she heard the magic in his armor fizzle and dim. Samson dropped his arms, eyes darting frantically around before his mouth fell open. 

“What did you do?” he demanded angrily. “ _What did you do_?” 

Katria dropped the rune—it wasn’t useful now—and it clattered to the floor. She reached with one arm to grab the dagger at her back.

“Kill them all!” Samson roared and swung his massive sword in her direction with an incredible amount of force. 

She staggered back, surprised, because this rune was supposed to disarm him, and yet he still seemed so powerful. 

Katria knew from experience that in a battle, things happened rapidly, without notice, sometimes before even her sharp senses could register them. The twang of a bow string, the red Templar’s guttural cries, Katria smothering her instinct to turn back and ensure Ellana and the others were safe. 

That was all ripped away in a single moment—replaced by a sharp pain in her gut that lanced through her like fire. Her other senses were numbed and scattered to the wind. 

Katria’s mouth dropped open, but there seemed to be no air around her to breathe. Her hands instinctively flew to the source of pain at her stomach. She did not look down because Samson had stepped very close, meeting her gaze with his dark eyes. Her fingers were wet, coated in her blood that spread across her coat. 

“You picked the wrong side,” Samson said, then he pulled his sword out from her stomach with one final turn. 

Samson barreled past her towards the others, and Katria fell to her knees. Her hands fumbled against her open wound— _think, pressure on the wound, don’t panic_ , she said to herself. 

She collapsed on the ground, crushing the weeds that sprouted up between the dilapidated stones under her. The sound of metal swords crashing together and magic surging around her was muted. She inhaled a wheezing breath before she noticed a pool of blood quickly growing below her. 

She thought she heard her name being shouted—or maybe she didn’t. Maybe Ellana didn’t care, or wouldn’t heal her. Or there was no point because the wound was too deep. Maybe Samson would exterminate them all, and she would have failed them. 

Her hand, slick with blood, fell from her stomach and flopped on the ground, too weak to keep hold. Everything hurt, maybe not just from her wound, so she slumped further to the floor and fell unconscious.

=== 

While Ellana and the others were in the Temple, the bulk of Cullen’s forces made great strides against Corypheus’ blockades. The red Templars crowded in, and his men held fast. Just when Cullen worried about their fatigue, or if they had enough supplies, Corypheus burst from the sealed doors of the Temple—and fled. Fled the field completely, leaving his men floundering, because apparently he had found what he wanted. Or not found, hopefully. 

Cullen rushed to the doors to try and make his way inside, but they had been sealed again. As the red Templars retreated and scattered—utterly desecrated because they had neither Corypheus nor Samson to guide them—Cullen brought anyone he could think of to help pry open the doors. 

The process took almost two hours, but eventually they managed to open them. The inside of the ancient area was more like a crypt. Overgrown and eerily silent. Cullen’s blood was pumping from battle and walking into a quiet space littered with bodies was upsetting. Worse, there was no sign of the Inquisitor. He tried not to think about what that meant—had Ellana failed? Was she even alive? Was anyone she brought with her alive? 

Cullen sent as many men as were able to sweep the Temple, and he followed suit. Everything seemed like an empty and endless maze—a maze scattered with red Templars and those elves that had been attacking them throughout the battle. They did not encounter anyone alive. 

Eventually his small group found an open space past a set of intricately carved doors. He was climbing down a set of wide steps when he heard someone call for him. 

“Commander!” 

Cullen quickened his pace and turned the corner. One of his men was crouching by a figure in a massive set of armor—Samson. He jogged over, hand tight around his sword. 

“Is he alive?” Cullen demanded. 

“Yes, sir,” his soldier replied, and he rolled Samson onto his back—so different than the man Cullen had known in Kirkwall. Samson stirred, and Cullen drew his sword. 

Samson’s eyelids fluttered open; he looked disoriented and pale. 

“I have him,” Cullen said. “Go see if you can find the Inquisitor.” 

His soldier stood. “We’ve found no sign of them-,”

“ _Any_ of them?” he interjected. 

He shook his head. “None.” He turned slightly and gestured upwards. “I believe we found the, ah, Eluvian, though? It’s shattered.” 

Cullen looked up—he could barely see the top of the mirror, darkened and nothing like the one Morrigan had lodged inside the garden in Skyhold. 

“I don’t understand,” he said. “If they’re not in here, and we didn’t see them leave, where are they?” 

“I can’t say I know, Commander,” he replied. 

Cullen sighed and knelt down beside Samson, gripping the front of his armor and hoisting him up to a sitting position. “Go get a healer,” he ordered his soldier. “I want to bring Samson to the Inquisitor for judgment. He needs to live.” 

Samson made a small wheezing noise—maybe it was supposed to be a laugh—and opened his eyes more. “And here I’d thought you’d just run a sword through me.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” Cullen snapped. “You are a monster and you should consider yourself lucky the Inquisitor is in charge of your fate because I would not be as kind.” 

“Corypheus will-,” Samson coughed, rough and weak. He’d been hit in the head, was bleeding from the neck. There were probably other worse injuries under his armor they couldn’t see. He did not have a sword or any other weapons on him. “Corypheus will win in the end.” 

“He fled like a coward,” Cullen replied. “Tell me where the Inquisitor is.” 

Samson’s lip turned up in a smug expression. “You don’t know?” 

Cullen clenched his jaw tightly. “I don’t have to bring you back to Skyhold in one piece, you know.” 

Samson looked past his shoulder. “I don’t know what happened after the Inquisitor-,” 

“Handily defeated you?” Cullen suggested. 

“She wanted the Well of Sorrows,” Samson said. “Like Corypheus. It’s up those stairs. Attached to one of those damn mirrors. If she’s not there-,” 

“They must have gone _through_ the Eluvian,” Cullen finished under his breath. And since there was a working one back in Skyhold, that’s probably where they ended up. His shoulders dropped in relief, though he could not be sure they were safe until Ellana sent word. She probably already had, but who knew how long it would take for a raven to reach them? 

A healer hurried around the corner and towards them. Cullen stood and let the young man stoop down. 

“If you remove any of his armor, ensure it is not left behind,” Cullen said. He began to walk towards the stairs, before he heard Samson’s voice.

“Where’s-,” 

Cullen stopped and turned slightly. He stepped back when he noticed he was standing near a large pool of blood. His eyes darted to the other parts of the courtyard—all the other stains were surrounding the bodies of the red Templars Ellana had killed. “Where’s who?” he demanded. 

“Oh, _now_ he wants to talk again,” Samson said.

Cullen clenched his fist. “I have no interest in hearing your pathetic excuses for your actions or your complaints about the Chantry that you think justify the destruction you’ve caused.” He gestured down. “Whose blood is this? The Inquisitor’s?”

“Wish it was,” Samson muttered. 

“Answer the question,” Cullen ground out. 

He lifted his head as the healer kneeling beside him removed his gauntlets. He was still weak, breathing heavily, but grinned. “You’ll be glad about it, I’m sure. Katria used that damn _rune_ on me. I ran a sword through her. I don’t know what they did with the body. Your Inquisitor must have taken it with her.” 

Cullen jerked forward, his brow furrowed sharply over his eyes. “What?” he demanded. “You—you _what_?”

“Put a sword in her gut,” he said. “She fell as soon as the fighting started. Didn’t move after that. Bled out.” 

Cullen took another step, fists clenched so tightly he could feel his fingernails sinking into his palms even through his gloves. “Y-You didn’t.” 

Samson cocked his head. “You see the blood she lost. I had to. She _destroyed_ my armor.” 

He instinctively looked back—at that damn _spot_. Katria’s blood pooled at his feet because he hadn’t been there to protect her. Because she had to be the fucking hero, probably.

His heart hurt, as if someone was clenching it in a vice-like grip; the pain radiated out, to his head, to the weakness in his legs. He was so tired from battle and so _confused_.

He’d just seen Katria. She was supposed to be fine. She was back, not exiled, and eventually— _eventually_ —they were going to work. That’s what his subconscious told him. Katria would stay with him every night, just like he wanted. He would see her brilliant smile every day, hold her against him when he missed her. Yes, it was foolish to think they could work even if she was alive—

But she wasn’t alive, was she? Samson—Samson who took _everything_ from him, had taken her too. Rage rose like bile in his throat.

He heard Samson’s voice, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. 

“Why do you care about some-,” 

Samson was cut off because of him. The next thing Cullen knew, he felt his hands against Samson’s armor. He’d darted forward in a haze, tackled Samson’s weakened body and pinned him down.

His rage propelled him because he was exhausted and didn’t have the strength to control himself and acknowledge the truth of what had happened. 

Cullen’s arm was sore from fighting, but still he swung his fist clumsily towards Samson, colliding with his face so hard he heard a sickening _crack_. Samson’s hands flailed in defense to no avail. 

“Commander!” 

Cullen snapped back into reality—his head no longer swam with desperate, furious thoughts, and instead he realized what he was doing: pinning a man down while his soldiers watched, his hand aching because he’d hit Samson so hard already. 

Samson was squirming under him, but weakly, barely hanging onto consciousness as blood trickled from his nose. Cullen scrambled back; his chest heaved a few times in his breastplate before he stood completely. 

“I-,” He swallowed roughly. “I need to find Leliana.” 

Cullen raised his eyes, scanning the handful of soldiers around him watching with confused expressions. He inhaled. “Put him in irons and take him to camp,” he ordered, though his voice felt weak. 

He spun on his heel and headed for the stairs. He did not want to be around Samson. Around the sword cast aside that had hurt Katria. Perhaps killed her. 

_Definitely killed her_ , a voice in his head said. He doubted Ellana would have healed her, even if there had been time. She’d taken the body as a courtesy, maybe. Or in the hopes they could save her—there was blood on his boots that told him it was a false hope. Her blood. 

Cullen admonished himself; he needed to focus. To find Leliana and ensure that no one else who’d gone through the Eluvian was hurt. Surely Ellana was the important party, and Katria, like she promised, had done what she needed to save her. 

Because Katria was a good person who was worth trusting—a fact he realized far, far too late for it to matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff hangers are upsetting, this I know! Rest assured I should have the next chapter by Friday/Saturday. Thank ya'll for all the support--it's especially comforting this time of year!


	32. Chapter 32

Katria’s eyes greatly resisted opening—she regained consciousness and was soon overwhelmed by the intensity of pain that coursed through her. She tried to inhale, but the sound just came out an angry wheeze, and she shifted. 

That only made things worse. The pain was sharper then, lancing across her stomach like when—

Like when Samson had run his sword through her. 

Her eyes flew open and she lifted her neck despite the pain. She was in a room lying along a cot. Not just any cot, though. _Her_ cot, from Skyhold. 

Katria craned her neck to the side to stare out the window she knew was there—she saw the blue sky above Skyhold, the stone tower and the battlements. She tried to be happy about it, but she was too confused and in far too much pain. 

She inhaled a slow breath and tried to push herself up. Samson had done a number on her that was for certain. She supposed she should be angry about it. 

Her fingers sunk into the blanket under her, but she was unable to do much else. Katria cleared her throat because _Maker_ was she thirsty. It made her wonder just how long she had been out—somehow she’d made it all the way to Skyhold. That seemed impossible. Her wound was far too severe to permit travel. 

The door creaked open at the end of the room, and before Katria could properly lift her head, she heard a voice. 

“Oh, Mythal’s mercy, _of course_ you’re awake.” 

She immediately lifted half her torso up, though the pain made her regret it. 

“Ellana?” Katria began breathlessly. “What are you-,” 

She stepped into the room a few feet, her delicate mouth tightened. “The healer mentioned you were recovering, and I only came to check on you because I assumed you’d still be unconscious.” 

Katria furrowed her brow. “I—what is going on?” she asked. “Why are we in Skyhold? How-,” 

Ellana lifted her hand to silence her. “I’ll explain,” she said. “After Samson stabbed you, we fought him. He put up quite the fight despite not having that armor. But we won.” 

“Is he dead?” Katria interjected. 

She shook her head. “No. We left him behind for Cullen, and then we found the Well. It was connected to an Eluvian, which is how we’re in Skyhold.” 

“You…dragged me through the mirror?” she began. “To save me?” 

“Don’t—get any _ideas_ ,” Ellana replied sourly. “You were dying and it…only seemed fair after what you did.” She shifted and looked down. “Samson would have hurt me pretty badly if I had gotten that close. You knew that.”

Katria propped herself up on her elbows. “I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” 

Ellana crossed her arms. “You don’t always keep your promises.” 

She sighed. “Yeah, I know, but—I can try.” 

“That’s not why I’m here,” Ellana said quickly. 

Katria sighed—not disappointed because Ellana’s reticence was not surprising. “But-,” 

“You were badly injured fighting for the Inquisition,” Ellana cut in. “But I _expelled_ you, and you returned against my wishes.” 

She swallowed. Who was this woman before her now? Katria thought she had known Ellana, but this experience—the bevy of harrowing experiences—had changed her. Maybe into something good or stronger or she’d been broken. 

“I wanted to help,” Katria said. 

“You did,” Ellana replied. “Which is why I didn’t leave you behind in the Temple to die.” 

She glanced down at her stomach, covered by a blanket, bulky from the bandages wrapped around her. “What now?” 

Ellana shifted. “I can’t very well turn you out by the portcullis.” 

Katria shrugged. “You could.” 

“Your sentences remains as I decreed,” she said as she pushed her hair behind her ears. “However, I will—allow you to stay here until your wounds have healed. It’s been two weeks already.” 

_Two weeks._ Katria pressed her hand against her temple and sighed. “I understand.” She lifted her head. “What—happened to Cullen? The others?” 

Ellana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “They are returning to Skyhold as we speak. They are close. Cullen wants Samson transported here as quickly as possible.”

“I can imagine,” Katria remarked. 

Ellana stood with her in silence, but Katria could not look at her. 

“Leliana had to be the one to tell me about you two.” 

She raised her brow. “Who?” 

Ellana gave her an irritated look and said nothing. 

“Sorry,” Katria said reflexively. “I—don’t mean to be evasive.” 

She snorted in reply. “You do, actually.” 

Katria bowed her head. “I don’t really know what you expect me to say. If Leliana told you we were— _together_ , that’s all there is.” 

“He claimed that too,” Ellana replied. “And then he couldn’t have been more despondent when you left.” 

The feeling that trilled through her made her sit up a little straighter. “Is that…” _True_. Maker, she wanted it to be true so badly. But it’s not as if it mattered. Cullen could care for her— _love_ her—and his principles would keep anything from happening. Because she betrayed him and wasn’t worth trusting.

Ellana caught her attention again. “Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends. Once.” 

“Tell you?” Katria began incredulously. “There wasn’t anything…to say. I only—I was afraid.” 

“Because you cared for him?” 

“I wouldn’t-,” Katria clenched her jaw, biting down hard on her desire to deny such things. “It hardly matters now.” 

“You-,” 

Katria exhaled sharply through her nose. “Ellana, I don’t—this isn’t what I wanted to talk about.” She met her gaze. “I’m not here for Cullen. He’s not the one I wronged.” 

Ellana cocked an eyebrow. “Cullen might disagree with that.” 

“I wrote a letter to Samson, and that was wrong, but Cullen can’t make that a personal vendetta, even if he wants to. I—never, _ever_ tricked him. Maybe he’s right to not believe me.” 

“I would say so,” she said, the angry tightness back in her mouth. Her hands dropped from where they were crossed over her chest. “I came here to tell you my expectations for your stay here. You’re not a part of the Inquisition again. I’m just giving you the courtesy of letting you heal.” 

“Ellana-,” 

She turned away slightly, slender shoulder facing her. “It’s not a negotiation, Katria. I’m the Inquisitor.” 

Katria leaned back against the cot. That was supposed to be something she was working on. “Right.” 

“You need to focus on getting better,” Ellana said. “Nothing else.” 

Katria just nodded—there was really no point in arguing now, so instead she listened to Ellana’s soft footsteps as she headed towards the door and disappeared. 

She sighed and leaned back. This was an improvement, certainly. She was _in_ Skyhold rather than dragging her feet in Ferelden. But the cost had been pretty high to get that, hadn’t it? 

There were still opportunities to convince Ellana of—well, _something_. It had been weeks since her trial, and she’d had some time to cope. Plus, Katria would have plenty of time to try her hand at persuasion. The pain she was feeling told her that her wound would not heal anytime soon. 

===

After another two weeks, Katria could sit up on her own, even walk across her room with only mild discomfort. It was a little alarming—Ellana had not come by once, and yet Katria kept getting better and closer to the time when she would be forced to leave. And Cullen had not even returned yet. 

She heard a knock at the door and a figure slipped inside. 

“Lady Trevelyan, I’m here to change your bandages.” 

Katria pulled her blanket back from her lap. “Thank you,” she said. “But it’s not Lady Trevelyan. I mean, it _is_ technically my title, but I prefer Katria.”

“Of course,” the young girl said, as she scurried inside and settled beside the cot. 

Katria looked away out the window as she worked—she did not like to see how bad the damage was; she was thankful there were other more talented healers around to take care of her. 

“So—how is the Inquisitor doing?” Katria asked absently. It was hard to get information because she couldn’t leave the room. Or at least wasn’t supposed to. Dorian came by as often as he could, but there was plenty of work for him to do researching in the library. Katria hated that she could not help with their efforts. 

The girl—Hattie—shook her head. “Can’t say I know, my Lady—I mean, Katria. She’s been busy. Lots of energy around here after the victory. Commander Cullen arrived this morning with that General Samson. The Inquisitor is sitting in judgment soon.” She looked up with an earnest expression. “I’m going to watch after this. Should be exciting.” 

Katria shot up. “Cullen’s here already?” she demanded. “And—she’s judging Samson _now_?” 

“Um, yes,” Hattie replied shakily. “But, you’re not in any shape to go down-,” 

“Sure I am. Just—hurry,” Katria said, gesturing impatiently with one hand. “Please.” 

Hattie nodded as she finished wrapping the bandages. Before the girl had tightened them as well as she normally liked, Katria was staggering out of her bed. 

Hattie cleared her throat. “Are you—are you _sure_ you should be-,”

Katria’s arm curled around her stomach as she groaned. “I’ll be fine. I want…need…” She needed to see Cullen. To be there for the judgment. To see Samson and—and she didn’t know what else. 

“Do you want my help?” the girl asked. 

Katria rested one hand against her bed frame. “No, that will draw attention to us. You can go on ahead.” 

Hattie hesitated, but then eventually gathered her extra bandages in her hand and hurried away. 

Katria was not as fast following her. Or even _half_ as fast. Each movement of her legs made the pain in her stomach worsen—the bandages held her together to some extent, but by the time she had made it out to the battlements, she was leaning against them panting. It wasn’t just the wound—it was the fact that she’d been out of commission for so long. 

Katria peered down into the garden and was not surprised to see it mostly empty. Samson was the most notorious prisoner the Inquisition had. He was despised. Ellana might execute him before Katria had the chance to speak to him. Or maybe sock him in the jaw for what he’d done. 

The stairs were not her friend. Every step sent pain shooting up. She was tried half-way down and hated that most of all. Katria was not supposed to be _weak_. Her only skill was fighting, moving fast, and right now that wasn’t possible. She was useless. More than useless because so many people also thought she was a traitor. 

Katria made it to the garden after she rested, then across the winding path to the door leading to the Great Hall. When she pushed open the door, the room was filled with shuffling bodies and voices. Not like the dead silence that always accompanied Ellana’s judgment. 

People were trickling past her, which meant it was _over_. 

Katria cursed silently under her breath and shoved her way to an opening in the room. Samson was being picked up from his knees. His armor had been stripped from him, and two guards held him by his arms as they lead him towards her. 

She stood frozen with her hand over her stomach, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do. Samson lifted his head and their gazes met. His bloodshot eyes widened. 

He looked much worse for wear. There were bandages across his chest, but worse of all was the ugly purple and red bruise on his face—he’d been hit hard enough he probably broke _something_. 

Samson was escorted quickly past her before she could stop them. She turned just in time to see Ellana disappear from her chair to her room. Katria limped over to two soldiers talking with their heads bowed. She recognized one of them. 

“Harris,” she said, and the young man looked up. 

“Trevelyan?” he began incredulously. “You’re not-,” 

“Yeah, I know—injured, traitor, expelled, not supposed to leave my room, I get it,” Katria cut in with a wave of her hand. “What happened to Samson?” 

Harris’s mouth was hanging open slightly before he shook his head. “If you must know, the Inquisitor put Samson in Commander Cullen’s care. He offered to give up information about Corypheus.” 

Katria’s brow rose—it was good of Samson to cooperate. That wouldn’t change Cullen’s opinion of the man regardless. 

“What happened to Samson’s face?” she asked. “It looks like he was beaten. His guards didn’t do that to him, did they?” 

Harris shifted awkwardly. “No, they didn’t. It was-,” He hesitated and looked down. “It wasn’t them.”

“Then who did?” Katria demanded. “Don’t cop out on me, Harris. If you don’t tell me, I’m sure our Spymaster would love to hear about how you’ve been convincing Miller to doctor the watch schedule so she can meet up with _you_.”

Miller turned bright red. “I—well, I-,” He stopped sputtering and cleared his throat. “ _Fine_. If you must know, it…the rumor is that Commander Cullen did it.” 

Her brow arched in. “What?” 

Miller shrugged. “Apparently he attacked Samson in the Temple. Lost it and just—lunged at him.”

Katria made an exasperated sound. “Why in the Void would he do that?” 

“No one knows,” Miller replied. “Perhaps he was angry. Samson is—evil.” 

Anger? That was Cullen’s excuse for kicking a man while he was down? 

Katria ran her hand through her tangled hair. Of course Cullen would do something so _unfair_. That’s exactly what his opinion of Samson was. 

She clenched her fists and turned away slightly. Cullen had attacked a completely incapacitated man out of anger. Because he hated Samson despite what had happened in Kirkwall—events that Cullen was inextricably tied into. When he was the bad guy. Maker, it frustrated her so much how _stubborn_ Cullen was. 

She spotted him across the room—he must have been the one supervising the judgment. Probably relieved Josie because he wanted to _guarantee_ that Samson got the punishment he deserved. His coat was hard to miss even in the room lit dimly by chandeliers. 

He strode across the Great Hall and did not notice her; he certainly wasn’t expecting to see her. Anger flared up like her pain had, and her fist tightened. 

Katria pursed him, but desperately wished his stride was not so long. She staggered forward, making it through the door leading to Solas’s study just behind him. 

“I overhead your men, _Commander_ ,” she announced. Her voice echoed up the high room. 

Cullen stopped dead, pausing before he spun on his heel. His brow rose in surprise.

“Katria,” he breathed. “You’re-,” He swallowed. “They told me you were injured. Bed-ridden.”

“I’m meant to be,” she said sourly. 

He reached up to rub his neck. “I meant to—I mean, I planned…” 

She leaned forward, scowling. “Now that Samson’s in your custody, are you going to make a practice out of abusing him? Breaking the bones in his face?” 

He completely faced her. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be-,” 

“One of your soldiers told the story about what happened at the Temple,” she cut in with a frown. “You saw Samson and _attacked_ him, even when he was incapacitated. I thought you were better than that. It’s absolutely barbaric.”

“Katria, I am not going to sit here and listen to all the _sympathy_ you have for someone so undeserving,” he snapped. 

She clenched her fist. “You try to insist that you’re better than Samson, but I don’t see it.” She threw her other hand backwards. “Samson is misguided but at least he has some honor-,” 

“He almost _killed_ you!” Cullen exclaimed. He pressed his palm against his forehead. “Maker, you are _incorrigible_.”

“We were in combat. You attacked a severely injured man for _no_ good reason,” Katria said sharply.

His brow wrinkled. “No good reason?” he began incredulously. “Is that what they told you?” 

“Samson had been unconscious,” she said. “He was no threat to you.” 

Cullen looked away, giving a disbelieving snort. His hand began to reach for his neck before he stopped and flung it to his side. “You should get your facts straight,” he said.

Her lips tightened. “Are you saying you didn’t hurt Samson?” 

He stepped towards her, pointing with one finger. “Samson spoke to me. I was standing—standing by a pool of your _blood_ and he told me you were _dead_.” His brown eyes were narrowed, locked on her and glinting with frustration and maybe sadness. “I lost my temper with Samson, yes. After I’d been in battle. After he told me that he was responsible for killing you and I-I—I didn’t know what in the _Void_ I was supposed to do without you, Katria.”

Katria didn’t reply immediately, only swallowed in the tense silence after his outburst, her mouth a trembling line. Maker, she felt like a fool. 

“Cullen-,” 

He stepped back and sharply shook his head. “Don’t,” he muttered. “I realize how— _useless_ my feelings are. I don’t even know what I…” He sighed. “You'll have to excuse me, Trevelyan. I have work to do.” 

Katria reached for him, but her hand clenched around air rather than his coat. “I didn’t-,” 

Cullen had spun on his heel, marching away as his hand racked through his hair.

More pain shot through her and Katria stumbled back against the wall, wincing. She was in no shape to follow him. Her chest rose and fell in slow breaths. The guilt felt worse of all. Maker, she should not have let herself get so angry. 

She was not going to persuade _anyone_ of her genuine desire to stay and be a part of the Inquisition if she kept screwing up like this. Least of all with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! Should be back to my regularly scheduled chapters from now on! Hoping to have the next chapter out in a few days! Thank ya'll for your support!
> 
> Also! I commissioned some more wonderful art of Katria that's [here](http://ces479.tumblr.com/post/134956565638/a-gorgeous-commission-of-katria-done-by-the)! In case ya'll wanted to see it. :)


	33. Chapter 33

Cullen returned to his office after Samson’s judgment and stayed there until nightfall. When he had first arrived in Skyhold that day, he knew things would be difficult—he could not look at Samson without anger coursing through him, but then when a part of him had been excited to see Katria, it…was ruined.

Hearing she was alive from Leliana had felt like a gift sent from the Maker. Then in Solas’s study she came at him, pale and weakened and angry, defending Samson. Because she couldn’t be bothered to keep her facts straight. 

He needed to clean his hands of her—of _them_. To squash those feelings he’d harbored for months in some absurd hope that things could be fixed. They couldn’t. Ellana was still determined that Katria would leave, and nothing could change that. 

Most of the night was spent working—Cullen knew he was not going to sleep after the day he had. He was at his desk, combing meticulously through the reports he’d received while he was gone in the Arbor Wilds. 

The door jingled on its hinges across the room, but didn’t open right away. Someone scrabbled with the handle before it finally creaked open. 

Katria was stooped over slightly, limp hair falling forward over her face in the doorway. Her other arm was wrapped around her stomach like he’d seen her before. 

“Trevelyan,” he began sharply. “You’re not supposed to be-,” 

Her groan cut him off, and her other hand shot out to support her as she leaned against the wall. Cullen strode over to her, and she lifted her head. 

“Can I sit?” she asked weakly. Her face was pale, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Cullen clenched his jaw before he exhaled through his nose. “Why are you here?” 

He grabbed her arm and helped her over to his chair. There were books and scrolls piled on the seat and he hurriedly moved them. 

Katria spoke as she sat down. “My bandages had to be changed, then I had to nap because I—I’m so fucking weak. Now I’m here because…” She drew her fingers across her brow. “I just wanted to apologize.” 

Cullen sighed. “It’s—fine.” Or at least it didn’t matter. He wanted no resolution because he wanted nothing to do with her. Though even as she sat beside him, slender mouth trembling and hands clenched nervously in her lap, he knew that was hardly true. 

“I shouldn’t have-,” She bit her lip and looked at him as he leaned against his desk. “Cullen, I know you’re a good man. One of the finest I’ve met. And…for me to assume that you would do that to Samson was wrong.” 

He crossed his arms. “Really, Katria, it’s alright. There’s no purpose to this—going back and forth about Samson. You’re attached to him and…” 

She smacked her hand against the arm of the chair. “I am not _attached_ to him,” she said angrily. 

“Look at what happened to you,” Cullen replied. “You could have died-,” 

“I am not his friend!” Katria insisted. “I’m—I don’t even know if I forgive him for what he did. But I understand.” 

He snorted. “You understand.” 

“He’s a coward,” she said. “He was frightened. He didn’t hurt me to be malicious.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I understand because I’ve done that too. Lashed out in fear and done terrible things.” 

Cullen made an exasperated sound. “You aren’t like him.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Maybe Samson’s morals aren’t like mine. Maybe I found the right path and he never did. But I forgave you. I forgave Ellana. I want to be forgiven.” 

“Katria-,” 

Her hand reached out and fell against his knee. He stiffened, his heart stuttering in his chest as his fingers clenched around the edge of his desk, though he didn’t move. 

“I would never try to excuse Samson’s actions with the red Templars. He was wrong and deserved to be punished. What he did was unconscionable.” She scrubbed half her face with her hand. “But I don’t think that fact should obscure what the Chantry did to him. What Meredith did to take everything away.” 

Cullen was silent for a few moments. She wanted to persuade him, he could see that. But it was not going to work.

“My sympathies lie with those he betrayed. They will extend no further.” 

Katria slumped back against the chair. She looked so frail and weak—the line of her cheekbones sharper, gaunt, her skin sapped of its color. Maker, she was _miserable_.

“I’m sorry about accusing you,” she eventually murmured. “I didn’t mean it. The thought that you had attacked him for no reason seemed so unlike you, and instead of thinking about that, I got angry. I’ve been…impatient lately since I was hurt.” 

Cullen’s eyes fell to the floor. He knew what having a short fuse felt like. When he did not respond immediately, she buried her face in her hands. Her voice got thicker and wobbly. 

“I don’t think—I know you’re not…” She sniffled. “Maker, when I said I care for you, I meant it, but…” 

Cullen knelt down in front of her, though his armor clanked loudly when he did. He hesitantly put his hand on her chair. “You don’t have to cry.”

She inhaled a shaky breath—an offended breath, maybe—and her hands flopped down. 

“I am _not_!”

Cullen furrowed his brow before he smiled slightly. “Of course,” he said, then he lifted his hand to her cheek and wiped away the one tear that had escaped from her eye.

She leaned into his touch just barely, and he wished he was not wearing gloves. 

“Ellana won’t let me stay,” she whispered. 

Cullen dropped his hand. “I know.” 

Her lips pursed together. “Does that disappoint you?” 

He paused; he was sure of his answer, but not sure he should say it. “It does.” 

She blinked a few times, trying to hold back more tears. “I—I almost don’t believe you. I’ve put you through…so much trouble. Wouldn’t it be better if I was gone?”

“You’ve already been gone,” he said. “And I missed you.” 

Her eyes lifted to him; he could not see their color in the dim light, but he knew what they looked like. She was tired. It occurred to Cullen he’d never really seen her in such an exhausted state, but life had taken its toll—Kirkwall, Clara, Ellana, him. Forbidden to remain in the first place she considered her home because of some stupid mistake. 

“I’m so sorry, Cullen.” 

“I understand,” he said. “I do.” 

She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek to catch another tear. “I’m still not crying,” she muttered plaintively. 

“Clearly,” he said. 

Katria tried to move her other arm, but winced instead, her mouth contouring in pain. 

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked. He touched her knee. “You shouldn’t have come to my office.” 

She shook her head. “It’s not like you were going to come to me.” 

“I would have—eventually,” he said. “I was upset today.” 

“You had a right to be,” she whispered. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t still care for you,” Cullen replied. 

Katria reached out rather unexpectedly and clenched her fingers into his coat. “I never manipulated you,” she said, their gazes locked together. “Cullen, I swear. I denied my feelings because I was scared. Terrified because I didn’t want to hurt you or expose you to—all the other things that happen to me.” 

He ran his palm along the stubble on his jaw. He thought of the tea, her letter to Samson that led them to his lair, her smile. Maker, was it possible that he believed her, despite her history? 

Cullen’s hand fiddled with her hair, gently brushing it from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “I—I know. Or…” He sighed. 

The door to the side of them opened, and Cullen scowled. His neck snapped around. 

“Get-,” 

He stopped and shot up when Ellana strode into the room. “Inquisitor.” 

Katria straightened also, trying to push herself from the chair. 

There was a slash between Ellana’s brow. “I was hoping to talk to you Commander. Are you busy?” 

“I—I…” Cullen swallowed and looked over at Katria. He had not spoken of her to Ellana since what had happened in Samson’s lair. Would Ellana be upset if she knew that he had lied about the nature of his feelings? “No,” he said. “I’m not busy.” 

Ellana crossed her arms. “I told you not to leave your room, Katria.”

She leaned against Cullen’s desk. “Your healers said that, actually,” she replied, breathing belabored. “You haven’t been by to give orders.” 

“If you’re going to wander around Skyhold, you need to be monitored,” Ellana said. “I will ask Sister Leliana to have you watched.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Katria insisted. 

“I believe I’ll make that call.” 

Katria’s shoulders slumped, and he resisted the urge to reach out for her. Ellana called for him again.

“Commander, if you could have one of your guards escort Katria to her room?” 

“Right,” he said hastily. Cullen briefly met Katria’s gaze before he walked out the other door to call for one of his guards. The young man waited at the threshold as Katria inched over. 

As she walked past him, he lifted his hand slightly. “I’ll stop by later,” he whispered. 

Katria stopped and looked at him, a genuine, though tired, smile stretching across her face. “Good,” she replied just as softly. 

He watched her leave out onto the battlements rather than look at Ellana. When he finally turned, his small smile faded. 

“She has to leave the Inquisition, Cullen,” Ellana said. 

Cullen frowned. “She doesn’t have to.” 

Her brow furrowed. “I thought you told me that your relationship was purely physical. Why would you care?” 

“This isn’t about Katria and I,” he replied. “She’s here because she feels guilty about what happened to you and wants to make it better.” 

“My entire family is dead,” she said. “All of them. There’s nothing she can do.” 

“That wasn’t her fault,” he protested. “She was just-,”

“Reckless?” Ellana suggested. “Irresponsible?” 

“Yes,” Cullen said. “She was. But everyone has acted that way before and she’s trying so hard to make up for it.” 

“For me, or just to be with you?” Ellana asked sourly. 

“I don’t—I _know_ she cares about you,” Cullen replied. “You are her family. Her only family. She doesn’t have anyone else either.” 

“What are you asking me to do?” she demanded. “Just let her stay?” 

“I’m asking you to at least talk to her,” Cullen said. 

Ellana clenched her fist then let out a sharp breath. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the truth about you two.” 

He ran his hand through his hair. “It was…complicated.” 

She huffed. “I can see that.” 

“Ellana, Katria would have given her life for you,” he said. “She tried. She deserves a chance.” 

Ellana exasperatedly threw up her hands. “I’m letting her stay, aren’t I? For now.” 

“I know,” Cullen said. “And I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want you to think that I’m asking this because of—how I feel.” 

“Listen, Cullen, I’m thinking about it,” she insisted. “But it’s not easy, you know. I’m running an Inquisition, for Mythal’s sake. A-And dealing with…” 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“I don’t need more apologies,” she muttered. “I get enough of them already. I came to talk about business. I thought you liked that sort of thing?” 

Cullen snorted. “I do. Come on.” 

Ellana walked over to his desk to present the reports she had gathered. Cullen put his concerns about Katria aside for the moment—he could not worry about the prospect of her leaving. He wanted things to be repaired; he wanted _her_ , but it was still too…raw and complicated. Katria was being pulled in a lot of directions at once, between him and Ellana and recovering. He didn’t want to scare her away—and frankly, that was easy to do sometimes.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting! Hopefully this long chapter makes up for it :)

The dungeon was not a place of happy memories for Katria. As she walked along the dank corridor, each of the uniform, square cells reminded her of sitting huddled in the corner, waiting and hopeless as the life she built collapsed around her. 

She eventually reached the last cell and saw Samson couched along one wall, sitting with his legs splayed out. Katria hesitated before stepping into view. She grasped the metal bars separating them and tried to stand up straighter; her stomach was sore, but the pain was not so sharp. She was healing more, and closer to being booted out by Ellana.

Samson’s head was bowed, but he lifted his eyes when he heard her footsteps. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, brow furrowed. 

Katria put her other hand on her hip. “Did you even know I was alive?” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I heard before we got here.” He shifted and crossed his arms over his chest. He seemed smaller without his armor. “You here to knock the shit out of me or something?” 

“Part of me wants to,” Katria said. “Though I really can’t. I’m not in good shape after my injury. Which was you stabbing me. In case you forgot.” 

Samson ran his hand through the greasy strands of his hair. “What do you want from me?” he demanded. “I just want to be left alone.” 

Katria sighed and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small bundle. “I, um—brought you some food,” she explained. “I’ve been down here myself, and I know what they feed you. Not the worst I’ve ever had, but not the nicest either.” 

Samson scooted forward slightly, then reached out with one hand. Dirt was caked underneath his fingernails, even starker against the white handkerchief she’d wrapped the bread and cheese in. 

“Your Templar know you’re down here?” he muttered. 

Katria shifted and looked down. “Haven’t gotten around to owning one of those yet, actually.” 

Samson nibbled on the bread quite inelegantly. “You’re not fooling me. All this time and you’re still fucking Templars.” 

Her brow arched in. “I am not-,” 

He snorted. “Oh, save it. Cullen lost it when I told him what happened to you.” 

“Commander Cullen would be concerned about any of the Inquisitor’s companions being harmed,” Katria said. 

Samson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Come on. I know Cullen. I know how desperate he is to stay in control.” His eyes fell to the stone under his feet, a slash between his brow. “Can’t say I understand _your_ interest in him.”

“That’s not what I came here to talk about,” Katria replied. 

“So what is it you want then?” Samson snapped. “Some sappy apology? Because I’m not sorry. You destroyed my armor, my chance at-,” 

“Maker, Samson, stop being so obtuse,” she interrupted sharply. “We both know you made a colossal mistake, and you can’t hide behind your armor anymore. Or your anger.” 

He met her gaze, dark, bloodshot eyes fierce before they softened. “ _Fine_ ,” he growled. “I’m sorry. Of course I am! I didn’t want to hurt you. You seem to be the only person in Thedas who actually believes I’m not some kind of monster.” He slumped back against the wall. “And despite that you throw your lot with the Inquisition’s pristine fucking Chantry boy.” 

“You and Cullen fundamentally misunderstand each other,” she said. “And it creates hate, which probably won’t change. Despite my efforts.” 

“Why would it change,” Samson muttered. “The bad guy in Kirkwall won.” 

“He’s not a bad person,” Katria protested mildly. 

“You would say that.”

“ _Neither_ of you are bad,” Katria said. “You are just a coward. An angry coward.” 

He crossed his arms. “And now I’m a dead man. The red lyrium has taken its toll.” 

“You’ve helped Cullen,” she replied. “You’re making your life worth something. Maddox would be proud of you.” 

“Don’t,” Samson snapped. 

“He would be.” 

Samson threw a scowl in her direction. “You have your apology. Why don’t you just get out of here?” 

Katria slid her hand through her hair. She did not know what she expected from this interaction. Samson could be just as stubborn as Cullen, though she knew even comparing them in her mind was a cardinal sin to both. 

“I just wanted-,” She sighed impatiently. “I thought you should know part of me still believes in you. Another part is furious you hurt me, but…I can learn to be forgiving. Or I have learned.” 

Samson shifted. “I didn’t expect all this sentimental crap from you.” 

Katria snorted. Deflected, as usual. “Right,” she said. “Farewell then. Permanently, probably. The Inquisitor won’t let me stick around.” 

“She lets me be here,” Samson replied. “No reason she wouldn’t let you.” 

Her hand fell from the metal bar to her side. “I certainly hope you’re right.” 

Katria hesitated, but Samson’s head was down, huddled in the corner and shut off from the world. She trekked back down the darkened hallway; she paused before she ascended the stairs to regain her energy. 

The door opened to the much brighter hallway, and Katria rounded the corner, just as someone else approached. She stopped abruptly and winced when pain shot across her stomach. 

“Trevelyan,” a voice said sharply. 

Katria took a step back. “Inquisitor.” 

Ellana folded her slender arms over her chest. “You were in the dungeon visiting Samson. What would possess you to do that?” 

Katria wanted to wonder how Ellana had learned where she was so quickly, but Leliana’s spies kept close tabs on her in Skyhold. They never let her feel alone. Her brow furrowed. “I only wanted to talk to him after what happened in the Temple.” 

“You realize I could accuse you of colluding with him? Conspiring?” she said with a frown. 

“That’s absurd,” Katria replied. “Samson has no way to communicate with any of his men, and I’ve already proven my previous correspondence with him was for the benefit of the Inquisition.” 

“I put you on a short leash,” Ellana said. “You’re lucky I allowed you to leave your room at all.” 

Katria threw one hand up. “Accuse me of treason again if you want. I don’t care. You can lock me in the dungeon.” 

“Do not paint me as some unreasonable tyrant,” she shot back. 

“I’m not,” Katria insisted. “I’ve spent weeks complimenting you. Telling you that you’re like family to me. I’m done coddling you like I did before. Or belittling you because of your age.” 

“And what is that supposed to do?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know,” Katria said. “I can’t force you to feel differently about me. Or forgive me.” 

Ellana raked her fingers through her hair—it was longer from when Katria had first met her. “I know if our positions were switched this would be easy for you,” she said. “You forgive so readily. You see the good in everyone, and there was a time when I looked up to you for that.” 

“And now?” 

Her hand fell. “Now, I see that you’re just _selfish_ ,” she replied. “You look for good in people so you can feel better about yourself. You forgive those who have wronged you because _you_ want to be off the hook for all the terrible things you’ve done.”

“That’s not fair,” Katria protested. “I—I mean, I’m not…” She cleared her throat, stopping herself from stammering because she wasn’t really used to standing up for her personal traits. “Perhaps a small part of me wants atonement for what I’ve done wrong, but I’m not selfish. I’m loyal, and I have sacrificed so much for you and my other friends. Maybe that doesn’t mean I should be forgiven, but my mistake does not make me a bad person.” 

Ellana was silent for a few moments, breathing heavy through her nose because her mouth was pressed into a thin line. “You are an irresponsible person, at least.” 

“I am,” Katria admitted, then she felt her throat tighten. “And if that’s enough to strike me out of your life, then fine. But this is the only place I’ve considered my home. This is the only time I’ve ever felt safe.” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Ironic you feel safe in a castle being targeted by a darkspawn magister.” 

Katria shrugged. “I have more faith in you than I do in Corypheus.” 

Ellana exhaled. “Thank you, but further compliments won’t save you. I’ve talked to your healer about your injury,” she said. “I have not changed my mind about you leaving.” 

Katria hunched over slightly; she felt pain worse than when her wound throbbed at night as she tried to sleep. “Ellana,” she blurted out. “Please, I-,” 

She lifted her hand to stop her. “Your begging won’t bring my family back.” 

“I’m sorry,” Katria replied exasperatedly. “But if you give me more time, then-,” 

Ellana shook her head. “You have the amount time _I_ decide on. But—I don’t want to deal with any exile until after Corypheus is defeated.” 

Katria’s brow arched in. “That could be months. Or _tomorrow_.” She looked down and rubbed her temple. Ellana was just trying to remove herself from the difficulty of having to force Katria to leave by pinning her departure down to some event that was not even certain.

Her change of heart was not a bad thing, but it was not the complete license to remain in Skyhold that Katria wanted. Rather than make a decision, Ellana was evading her responsibility because she was torn between her compassion and her anger. It did not put Katria in a good position—she only lingered here hoping she could be useful again, all the while being the object of gossip for the real members of the Inquisition. 

“Why did you change your mind?” she asked. 

Ellana tucked her hair behind her ear. “There’s no use in forcing you out before we’re done with Corypheus. It would affect Cullen, who I need at his best, and you’re not completely healed anyway.” She made an exasperated sound. “This isn’t an easy decision, you know. Every time I see you, I’m reminded of what I’ve lost. I tell myself that you aren’t malicious. That the Duke in Wycome would have found someone else to wipe out my clan even if you’d reported Derek in the Emerald Graves, but sometimes the anger consumes me. And I shouldn’t have to be reminded of that just so you can stick around here and be with Cullen.” 

Katria clenched her fist—not angry, but uncomfortable. She didn’t want to concede that Ellana had made a perfectly good point. 

“I don’t want to stay because of Cullen,” Katria said softly. “I want to stay because of you. I sit around and desperately hope that one day you’ll…not have so much anger at the sight of me. I want to help you.”

“A noble sentiment,” Ellana remarked. 

“Not sure that’s enough to keep me around,” Katria muttered. 

Ellana stepped back. “Maybe not.” 

“For what it’s worth, thanks for…letting me stay until this is over. Seeing all this to the end,” she said. 

“Don’t be too grateful,” Ellana replied. “I can have you escorted out of Skyhold at a moment’s notice, so tread lightly.” 

“I will,” Katria said, though the words deflated her immeasurably. Ellana only nodded to her and then turned on her heel away from the dungeon. 

Katria knew it was best not to follow her. Ellana’s words had made her stomach churn. Her former friend could not even stand the sight of her. Her very existence reminded Ellana of all that she had lost, and how Katria was partially responsible for it. 

Katria had never considered how her insistence to stay would affect her. Ellana was not being vengeful or cruel; she probably wanted to forgive Katria, but couldn’t bring herself to because of the emotional trauma she’d experienced. 

Katria rubbed her face with both hands. Why did she insist on sticking around when she only caused more pain? 

Maker, maybe she _was_ selfish. Maybe it would be better if she just left. 

===

Cullen, like most days, spent his time in his office perusing the reports he’d received. Things had been a little less hectic lately because the bulk of their troops had not returned from the Arbor Wilds. Still, Cullen worked as much as he could because the alternative was thinking about all the other problems in his life that could not be easily solved. Those involving Katria, Ellana, and whatever was left of his mangled relationship. 

It was particularly cold out on the battlements that night. A thin layer of white had fallen on the grounds outside Skyhold, and snow continued to fall, flakes glimmering in the torchlight. Cullen was about to descend the stairs leading to the courtyard to find some food when he spotted a fast moving figure. 

Katria’s ratty jacket was unmistakable, even as she walked hunched over with her arms covering her torso. She disappeared into the lower courtyard and out of the torchlight. 

Cullen pursued her because—he wanted to. He wanted the chance to see her smile, or run his fingers through her hair. Both things that would probably not happen, but at least he could say he was trying to keep tabs on her as the Inquisitor had requested. 

When he reached where he had seen Katria last, she was already gone, her figure barely visible as she hurried past the portcullis, out of Skyhold. Cullen again followed until he reached the open air just past the gates. 

There were deep footsteps in the snow drifts that followed the road. Cullen mimicked the trail as an icy gust sent the fur on his coat flying against his jaw and cheek. He hunkered down against the chill as his feet crunched the snow under him. 

He saw Katria almost immediately, standing at the edge of the ring of light cast by the torches along the bridge leading out of Skyhold. Her hair was speckled with snow, and she held her jacket close to her body, head bowed. 

“Katria,” Cullen said, once he was close enough. “What in the Maker’s name are you doing?” 

Her hand quickly rose from her chest and wiped her eyes. “I-I….” She stopped and sniffled. “Why are you here?” 

“I saw you leaving,” he said. “You’re—supposed to be monitored.”

She rubbed her palms together for warmth. “I hate that,” she muttered. “Eyes _always_ on me, like I can’t be trusted to piss without betraying the cause.” 

“Ellana…has good reason,” Cullen said.

Katria paused for a few moments, then turned completely to him, her feet twisting and tightly packing the ice underneath her. 

“When did Ellana find out about us?” she asked. 

Cullen tried to keep himself from scowling. “Leliana told her after you were…apprehended.” 

She looked down. “Ellana said you were just blowing off steam. That it—we didn’t mean anything.” 

He ran his hand through his hair. “What else was I supposed to say? I couldn’t possibly-,” 

“I understand why you said it,” Katria replied, then her eyes met his. “But I want the truth now.” 

Cullen’s arm dropped back to his side. “I’m not sure the truth about how I feel matters.” 

She pressed her lips together. “I’m not a traitor,” she said softly. “Not a traitor, not a bad person…” More tears welled up in her eyes as her voice broke. “I’m n-not a bad person.” 

Cullen felt a sharp pang of guilt in his gut and his hand reached out for her before he stopped himself and retracted his arm. “You’re not,” he said. 

She gave a soft snort. “You don’t believe that.” 

He did not know what he believed. He knew what he _wanted_ to believe. 

“You came back and are trying make amends with Ellana. That matters.” 

“But what if it doesn’t work?” she asked. “She still hates me, Cullen. She can’t let go. And she shouldn’t.” She rubbed her face. “What if I can’t fix this?” 

Cullen shifted. “With time you can.” 

Katria ran the heel of her hand across her cheek, wiping away wet tracks from her tears. Her nose and ears were bright red from the cold. 

“Maybe people do things that are just unforgivable.” 

Cullen clenched his fist because he wanted to touch her again. “Not you, Katria,” he said gently. “Not for this.” 

She swallowed. “Why are you being nice to me?” she asked. “I don’t understand.” 

“It’s not—it isn’t nice,” he replied, eyes darting away. “Only honest.” 

She wrung her hands together, looking dejected. “Right.” They rose to her temples and pushed her hair back. “I’m sorry for leaving. I only—panicked. Ellana told me I could stay until Corypheus is defeated, but I’m still…abhorrent to her. She’s just trying to avoid making a decision, and I hate being in limbo. No one seems to really want me here.” 

_I want you here._ The words rose up in Cullen’s throat, and he didn’t even know if it was true. She looked at him, small flecks of snow sticking to her eyelashes and melting on the reddish skin of her cheeks. He missed her smile very much. Maker, he’d missed her. 

“You look freezing,” Cullen blurted out—he had to speak otherwise his train of thought would become too dangerous for him to handle. He unclipped his coat. “Here, take-,” 

“Oh, no,” Katria said, retreating back. “I’d rather freeze than wear that.” 

Cullen gave a small laugh. “You can’t be serious.” He leaned forward and swung the coat around over her arms. He bundled the fabric at the front in both his hands, trapping her. She stumbled forward when he pulled, and snow scattered across his boots. 

“See,” he said. “This isn’t so bad.” 

She smiled slightly. “Not so bad for me, perhaps. But you’re standing fairly close to a traitor.” 

Cullen exhaled, a puff of white between them. “You’re not.” 

Her eyes were glassy again in the torchlight. “I’m sorry about everything that happened. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner.” 

He furrowed his brow. “You still…” 

Katria crossed her arms underneath his coat. “I don’t know what to say. The way you feel about Samson, how I hurt you—yet I still…can’t get you out of my head. You’re a wonderful man, Cullen, but I’m not good at this.” 

His lip curled up. “You’re really not.” 

She whimpered. “Cullen-,” 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I was only kidding. I thought you… _liked_ kidding.” 

“When it’s done well,” she replied.

Cullen unclenched one of the hands holding his jacket to wrap his arm around her back. She was pulled closer to him on one side, their shoulders pressed together. 

“You must be cold,” Katria whispered. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied. 

He was wearing his breastplate, so he could not feel her hands curling around his waist, just the sound of the fabric of his jacket rustling. His fist still held the front flaps together against her stomach.

She turned her head and lifted her chin, so those hooded eyes and her prominent nose and slender lips begging to be kissed filled his vision. “I…worried you hated me. After all the ways I pushed you away and then-,” 

“I could never,” he said hoarsely. 

Her brow wrinkled. “That’s not true. You could easily-,” 

“Fine, then I don’t hate you,” Cullen interjected, grip tightening. “Not even after what you did.” 

“I’m still sorry,” she said. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Because they were chapped from the cold, probably. Not because she was thinking about kissing him, like he was. “You must know the guilt. How it feels. It’s…” 

“I know,” he whispered. “What matters is that you’re trying to be better. And there are those who won’t forgive you, but I know you’ll continue to do good.” 

“Do _you_ forgive me?” she asked. The reddened tip of her nose brushed his. 

He hesitated, searching her eyes as he buried his hand deeper in the fabric of his coat. The cold had completely numbed his feet, but the way her breath hit his face made warmth spread across it.

She inhaled deeply in the silence, her chest compressed against his armor. “You can say no. I understand.” 

“I…” He sighed. “I can try.” 

Her fingers curled against his armor and she tried to look away. “You—should go inside, Cullen. It’s freezing.” 

Yes, it was freezing, but he could not imagine leaving. Not when she was still close to him. “Let me kiss you,” he murmured.

She lifted her head and turned slightly to meet his gaze with blue eyes widened. He tried to wait as long as he could in some trembling silence before his lips brushed hers. It was tender, hardly a kiss at all, until she leaned in closer after a small noise left her throat. 

The skin on his face was so cold that when her mouth opened, warm and perfect and exactly what he wanted, he groaned. His hand released his coat and rose to her face, sinking back into her now wet hair and pressing them more tightly together.

She said his name before he deepened their kiss. _Cullen_ in a breathy, desperate voice that brought feeling back to every inch of him turned cold by the snow and her betrayal. He tried to keep himself from turning too frantic—this could not be sloppy anymore, or quick. The way he kissed her was supposed to communicate that he cared for her, not that he wanted to fuck her. 

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, grazing the puckered skin of her scar before he delved further with his tongue because the cold outside demanded he seek more of her warmth. Her fingers scrabbled against his armor to find a better grip, and her lips sought his with quickening momentum every time he paused to take a breath.

Cullen’s hand on her back slid lower, almost to her ass, and his cocked throbbed in his breeches. He pulled away before his hunger for her consumed him in some fiery blaze, and she only captured one more small, wet kiss before he opened his eyes. 

“You believe me?” she asked, breathless. 

He rested his forehead against hers. “That doesn’t mean it can work. You’re still-,” 

“Fairly reviled here?” she finished with a sad look. 

“I don’t care about that,” Cullen replied. “But Katria, I—well, part of me can’t believe that this relationship is what you really want.” 

She blinked away a new set of tears and tore her gaze from him.

“You want to run away,” Cullen said, before she could speak. “I know you do. That’s your instinct. And you’re fighting it, but if you give up…” He sighed and buried his nose in her hair. “I can’t bear to be hurt again.”

“Cullen, I’m sorry,” she murmured, clinging to him probably because she did not want him to see her crying. “I’m so sorry.” 

“For someone who hates apologies, you certainly do it a lot,” he remarked. 

She moved away from him. His coat slid from her shoulders and she pushed it into his chest. 

“Katria-,” 

“The only thing I do is hurt people,” she said. “It _will_ happen again.” 

Cullen made an exasperated sound, but she was already trekking away back towards Skyhold. He flexed his cold fingers in his gloves before marching after her. 

He grabbed her arm, and she turned with a surprised look.

“I want you to stop,” he said. 

Her brow rose. “Stop?” 

“Stop copping out,” he replied. “Stop giving up for no damn reason and running away just because something is hard. You’re better than that.” 

Katria broke from his grasp. “Ellana is better off with me gone. She looks at me and can’t stand it.” 

“So she says that now,” he said, hand flying out. “That’s why you’re still here. Because those feelings can change. They will. You are a good, kind person, but you’re…being cowardly.” He shook his head. “Emotionally, at least. Maker knows you’re not scared of _doing_ anything.”

“But-,” 

“There’s no argument here,” Cullen cut in. “This is what you should do. End of story.” 

Katria shifted on her feet, crunching the snow under them. She bit her lip. “You’re being…harsh.” 

“I—forgive me,” he said. “I don’t mean to be aggressive, but Maker, Katria, you can’t leave. Not even because of me, but because you and Ellana will _both_ be better off when your relationship is repaired.” 

She tightened her grasp on her arms as she hunched down against the cold. “What happens when she forces me back into exile? When my efforts fail?” 

“They won’t,” Cullen said firmly. “Or at least that shouldn’t be what you’re thinking about. You’re just giving yourself an excuse to leave.” 

“It’s not as easy as you make it seem,” she murmured. 

He reached out and wrapped his hands around her arms. “You shouldn’t quit. I’m here for you. I want to be _with_ you. In—in a serious way, this time.”

Cullen hesitated, than panicked when Katria did not reply immediately. Her prominent brow furrowed as she stared at the snow between their feet. The silence suffocated him; he wondered if he had said too much. Perhaps he should have allowed her to deal with Ellana _first_ before he brought up his desire—his _need_ —to be with her. Not as a lover, but as a…partner. 

Katria finally looked at him, lips bright red in the cold. “Thank you, Cullen,” she said softly, and then her arms circled his neck and she squeezed him hard. 

He returned the gesture with just as much force, holding her as close as his armor allowed with his hands on her back. 

“I want what you want,” she added in a whisper. “If—if I get to stay.” 

Cullen did not reply and instead buried his face in the cold strands of her hair. He hated how their plight was not a simple one. He could not ask her to be his, and that be the end. No, instead he’d been a fool and poured out his heart to a woman who could be torn from him. Or put him in a position that might force him to choose between her and the Inquisition. 

He pushed those thoughts from his mind for the moment, though he knew despite his confidence there was no escaping from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter I've reached 100k words! :D Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it feels like a milestone!


	35. Chapter 35

Katria retreated back through the walls of Skyhold quickly, maybe even in a panic. She had gazed up into Cullen’s warm, golden eyes outside, such a contrast to the barren white around them, and was seized by a small sliver of terror. Terror at what she had said she wanted. Terror at the prospect that she would let him down again. 

It was not that her feelings for Cullen weren’t strong. They were unfamiliar. Katria had done love once, but of a different sort. Clara was her child, her family, and Cullen—he was…something else. 

He wanted to be her companion. And Maker, what if he wanted to be her _formal_ companion? As in, _married_. To each other. 

Katria’s shaky exhale came out a puff of white in front of her, and then she was blathering to him about how she was cold and her side hurt. His brow puckered in concern while his hand caressed her cheek, the leather of his glove biting. It only made her heart stutter more because did this man have to be so insufferably _sweet_?

So she escaped and trotted back through the snow. When they reached the battlements, Katria swiftly squashed her desire to go to the loft above his office and sleep with him. Or other things. 

Instead she went to her own bed, curled up under the blanket with eyes wide open. She wondered if she was just causing more pain for herself by kissing him. Cullen would never chose her over the Inquisition. He simply wouldn’t. And Katria didn’t even know if she wanted him to. Surely serving as Commander was a better service to Thedas than making her happy. As if she even deserved happiness. 

Other more alarming thoughts swirled around—heavier than her concern about whether her and Cullen would work. All academic speculation if Ellana asked her to leave. The Inquisitor was ambivalent now, but what if the scales tipped in the bad direction? The _no_ direction where Katria was cast out and barred from the place that contained the only things she had ever wanted?

Her night was restless because of all these problems, made worse by the fact that there was still a darkspawn magister on the loose attempting to exact his revenge at any moment. 

By the morning, Katria rolled out of bed—the sunshine streaming into her room kept her from even pretending to be asleep. She had a small mirror in her room, hardly the size of her hand, but crouched down in front of it trying to soothe down her hair on the off-chance Cullen came around.

Of course, it really wasn’t an off-chance. It was assured that Cullen would arrive, probably to _talk_. He was not a man who liked uncertainty, even though in this case it was emotional uncertainty. Or maybe he just wanted to have sex with her and was far too polite to admit it. 

Katria changed clothes and threw open her door; she jolted back when there was someone already at the threshold. 

Cullen’s hand immediately flew to his neck and his other fingers flexed in his gloves. “Er—hi. I was here to-,” 

“Talk?” she suggested with an arched brow. 

He huffed. “Well not when you use that tone.” 

Katria slipped past him and onto the landing overlooking the garden. “Sorry,” she replied. “We can.” 

Cullen stood beside her. “I know you panicked last night. If you changed your mind-,” 

“I didn’t change my mind,” Katria insisted. “But I’m certain that all this is—it’s _pointless_.” 

“Don’t say that,” Cullen replied. “Ellana will change her mind.” 

She crossed her arms. “And if she doesn’t?” 

He exhaled sharply. “She will.” 

Katria shook her head. “Cullen, stop being so stubborn because you’re afraid to admit that you-,” She waved her hand dismissively. “You’d pick the Inquisition over me. As you should.” 

“No,” he said reflexively. “I— _We_ would think of something.” 

“Oh yes, I’m sure our relationship would be very fulfilling with me in the Free Marches and you staying here in Skyhold,” she muttered. 

Cullen touched her arm with a sad look. “Katria…” 

She frowned slightly. “Don’t. This is nothing to look like a kicked puppy about. A handsome one, but still. I’m not your best match.”

He was silent for a few moments with his brow furrowed over thoughtful eyes. “You still don’t get it,” he said softly. 

Katria shifted. “I understand how you feel, but-,” 

“You _don’t_ understand,” Cullen interjected. He slid his hand along her cheek and leaned forward until their lips met. It was a brief kiss, but she enjoyed it. More than she should. He pulled away to look into her eyes. “It is apparently beyond your comprehension that I love-,” 

Had Cullen finished his sentence, Katria likely would have been rendered numb with shock by it, but he did not. Instead, there was a frightful rumbling under their feet, a sharp _crack_ above their heads—a nanosecond of chaos before a sheet of green light settled over them. 

Katria jumped back and craned her neck up, staring in shock at the flexing light of the Breach above their heads. Cullen had his eyes trained in the same place, his pallid skin and brown eyes stained green. 

Another sound—a strangled cry—echoed up from the garden. Katria staggered forward and leaned half her weight over the balcony. She spotted Ellana, red hair bright among the foliage, splayed across the stone path clutching her hand. 

“Ellana!” Katria exclaimed, and then she leapt over the wall onto the slate roof. Her feet slid down the slope as she tried to keep her balance; she spun and leapt off at the end of the roof to slow some of her momentum. When she landed on the spongy dirt of the flowerbeds, pain still shot up her side from her wound, though she forewent wincing in favor of rushing over to Ellana. Cullen, clad in his armor, did not follow her down the roof and had shot off in the other direction. 

“Ellana,” Katria said again, once she was closer. She knelt down beside her as she pushed herself to sitting a position. 

She was panting, holding her hand to her chest with eyes wrenched shut. “I’m fine,” she wheezed, through clenched teeth. 

“Are you sure?” Katria asked. “Just breathe.” 

Ellana took a few heaving breaths; the pain she was feeling did not seem to subside until she heard the clattering of metal footsteps behind her. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen began. “Are you alright?” 

Ellana lowered her hand, and Katria helped her stand by holding her elbow. Her smaller frame staggered into Katria’s, though she tried to stand on her own. 

“Corypheus isn’t content to wait, apparently,” Ellana said. 

“He’s desperate,” Cullen replied. “He has no options. We will defeat him. For good this time.” 

Katria looked up. “Does this mean he’s in Haven again?” 

Ellana nodded, pushing away slightly now that she had gained her bearings. “I need to leave at once.” Her eyes rose to Cullen. “Commander, I need you to double the active guards on duty and prepare the trebuchets. Corypheus might be at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but he could send what remains of his army here.” 

Cullen nodded sharply. “At once, Inquisitor.” 

Katria let go of Ellana so she could stand on her own. “I will go gather the others while you suit up. We will depart as soon as you are ready.” 

Ellana met her gaze, expression unreadable. Her lips tightened before she straightened her shoulders. “Be ready within in the hour.” 

Ellana put on a brave face and marched across the path. Katria could see her hand was trembling just as she disappeared. She was about to hurry in the opposite direction when Cullen spoke. 

“Katria, you’re in no shape to accompany the Inquisitor.” 

She turned slightly. “We don’t have time for this.” 

He grabbed her arm. “You could die out there.” 

“I could do that even if I were in perfect shape,” she insisted.

“Exactly,” Cullen said. “You’re still recovering, and the chances of you being harmed are even _higher_. This is not the time to prove to Ellana that you’re worthy.”

Katria rested her palm against his breastplate. “I don’t have a choice. I’ve been sitting around this castle for _weeks_. I have no other skills—I don’t negotiate, or plan, so I fight.” 

“I’m sorry, Katria, but you can’t fight right now,” he said. “It could kill you and—and I won’t allow it.” 

She touched the line of his jaw. “Unfortunately that’s not your call to make.”

Cullen made a frustrated sound. “Katria, _please_. You can’t go out in your condition to fight Corypheus. It’s reckless. Ellana cannot forgive you if you’re dead.” 

“If I don’t go out there and prove myself, then I won’t be forgiven at all,” Katria replied. “Which means I’ll have to leave Skyhold. My life in that state wouldn’t be worth living anyway.”

“Then let me come with you,” he said desperately. “I can protect you. Our troops have not returned from the Arbor Wilds, but there is a small group I can lead with the Inquisitor.” 

Katria sighed. “You need to stay here and protect the others,” she said. “Maker, what has gotten into you?” 

His hand flew out. “I’m sorry that I’m reluctant to send the woman I love out to fight a darkspawn magister!” 

She trapped a squeak in her throat. “Cullen, don’t-,” 

“Yes Katria, I realize this is terrible timing,” he interrupted as he scrubbed his brow. “Though I’m certain _any_ expression of emotion is at a bad time in your opinion.” 

“There’s a gaping hole in the Veil above our heads and you’re trying to tell me you _love_ me,” she replied. “So this is objectively _not_ the right time.”

“If you want to gallivant off to your death, then I’m going to tell you that…” He ran his hand through his hair. “A part of me is in love with you, I think.”

“And a part of me is terrified to hear that,” she replied.

His face fell, and Katria wished as her heart clenched that she was different. That she could smile at him and gush back about how much she loved him too. But instead all she felt was terror at the prospect of letting him love someone who would let him down again. 

“Cullen, I wouldn’t be here in Skyhold, or out at the Temple fighting Corypheus if I didn’t-,” She stopped and swallowed. “I do this stuff because I feel… _things_ for you. And it won’t, but if the worst happens out there, I just want you to be happy.” 

“You make me happy,” he replied softly. 

“Well—just wait,” she said. “A week, probably. And then you’ll see.” 

Cullen gathered her in his arms and kissed her again. She made a surprised sound because he was more insistent this time, lower lip dropping so his tongue traced the line of her mouth. Her hands clenched in his coat; she held tight to him because her joints felt like putty. 

He pulled away from her, but kept his hand nestled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Probably didn’t want to kiss her for too long in the public garden with the Breach looming above them. 

“I also forgot to mention that a part of me thinks you’re the most insufferable woman in all of Thedas,” he said hoarsely. 

“Well you have the most hideous coat in Thedas, so we both have flaws,” she replied with a grin. “Though sadly what you wear is your only one.” 

“You know that’s not true,” he whispered. “Better than anyone.” 

Katria raked her fingers through the stubble on his jaw. “You’re a fine man, Cullen.” 

He leaned into her touch. “You are equally as good, and I don’t want to live without you.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re in love with me,” she replied. 

He sighed. “I want you to come back. I want us to have a _normal_ relationship so I’ll know for sure. I mean, I do know. As far as I can.” 

“I’ll return, Cullen,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. She wasn’t scared of fighting—in fact, the only thing she feared was what in the Void her response to Cullen would be. He had clearly thought long and hard about his feelings, whereas Katria preferred to just…ignore them. “I have to do this.” 

He ran his hand along his neck. “I know,” he said. “I-I know.” 

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I need to go. Someone’s got to help close that bothersome hole in the sky.” 

“Be careful,” Cullen said, and he raised his arm so it brushed hers. He didn’t close his fingers, so she merely slipped from his grasp as she snorted. 

“Careful is never fun,” she replied. 

“ _Careful_ will bring you back to me,” he shot back immediately, taking a step closer. 

Katria looked over her shoulder as she walked away. She smiled. “I’ll come back to you, I promise.” 

Cullen’s armor clanked as he shifted awkwardly. “I mean what I said,” he said fleetingly. “About loving you.” 

Katria was still smiling, though she walked away a little faster. 

===

The trip to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was quick. Adrenaline pumped through Katria’s veins, keeping the pain in her side as she rode her horse at bay. Before them was a daunting task, and Katria’s smile and assurances to Cullen were a thin veneer—one she wore often because facing difficult situations was so much harder than just making a joke. And what better time to be glib or flippant than when she did not have the courage to say _I love you too_ to a man thoroughly deserving of such love and who she quite possibly felt that way for. 

Possibly. And that uncertainty was more than enough grounds for her to ignore the issue in favor of focusing on the reopened Breach. 

The area around Haven and the Temple was still desecrated. Barren, coated in snow, and tinged green. Katria walked through the debris, crushing ash under her boots, trying not to think about the fact that this was the only thing that constituted Clara’s grave. It would not be her grave too. 

Corypheus and what remained of his army were ahead. Fear solidified like a fossil in Katria’s stomach—not fear for her, but for Ellana. No one had faced Corypheus head on in the past year. Now was the time—destroy him, or allow him to destroy the world. Katria was not jealous of the position Ellana was in. 

They approached the Temple while Ellana gave curt and concise orders to the troops already there, then headed forward without hesitation. The wind was whirling around them, kicking up snow and making it hard to see, save for the glow of red lyrium all around them. 

Ellana rushed forward up a set of stone steps, Cass just behind her. The Seeker buried her sword into a terror demon rearing up its clawed hand while Ellana shot a massive stream of ice in the same direction. 

Corypheus loomed before them. Katria stopped and staggered back slightly because she had not realized how large he was. She had only seen him once—in the Arbor Wilds, when he had resurrected himself, but from her vantage point she could not discern his size. 

Now, as he hovered ahead with the orb, power humming around him like that from the Breach, she understood the magnitude of what they were up against. And not in a good way. 

Corypheus spoke once they were close enough. “I know you would come,” he said, his small, beady eyes settling on Ellana. 

Ellana’s voice was unwavering and strong. “It ends here, Corypheus,” she shouted up to him, and Katria was mildly disappointed because surely there were funnier things to say to this serious magister far too obsessed with himself and his own power. 

Corypheus raised his bony hands high. “And so it shall.”

The ground started rumbling, stones rattling, and then the area around them lifted in the air with such force that Katria fell to her knees. Her hands scrambled against the dirt as she felt herself falling backwards. 

She had just pulled herself back up, shocked by the colder air around them as they rose higher and higher in the sky. Katria didn’t understand the purpose of it, but still, as she peered over the ledge nearby, the ground obscured by snow and fog, fear shot through her once again. 

They all moved in on Corypheus; mages on the fringes, warriors and rouges striking close. The massive blasts Corypheus sent their way were terrifying. The angry red bolts disintegrated most of the rocks Katria used as cover. Her knives felt like they did little harm to him as he towered over them. 

Still, she fought, though the pain in her side got worse and worse. Just as she stood from diving into a cluster of rocks, the ground beside her began pooling black and green before a shade popped from the ground and gave a teeth-chattering screech. 

Katria fell back onto her ass, raising one dagger as the demon swiped at her. She pushed herself onto her feet; she ducked low as another sharp claw came at her, then buried her sword deep in its gut. The shade wailed again before disintegrating into ash. 

Corypheus spoke from across the expanse of stone. “Feel my wrath, wretch!” he bellowed. 

A massive stream of red came barreling towards her. Hot pain flashed across her chest as it made contact and threw her back. Her armor skidded against the tiny stones under her. She rolled to the edge of the floating slab, forcing her hand out to cling to the side. 

The stray pieces of her hair slid sideways off her face and dangled over the steep precipice. Katria made a panicked noise and pulled herself up, staying low so that Corypheus did not shoot anything her way. 

Just as she grabbed her daggers, Corypheus’ voice echoed across the darkness again and his magic sent Ellana flying. Her staff clattered to the ground, then she was tumbling up and over the ledge. 

“Ellana!” 

Katria darted over and dove bodily forward. She landed on her stomach, half her body dangling over the side, grabbing Ellana’s arm just in time. The pain in her side flared to an intensity that made tears well up in her eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Katria asked, voice loud over the din of battle. 

Ellana kicked her legs in the empty air to try to pull herself up. Katria dragged her back onto the rock, then wiped the sweat from her face, catching dirt and blood on her glove. 

“Thank you,” Ellana said between pants. 

“Anytime,” Katria replied, which despite their situation she hoped conveyed just how sincere she was when she said _anytime_. Anytime in the future, past when Corypheus was defeated. Anytime for as long as she lived. Maybe with Cullen. 

Ellana did not take the comment with such gravity—probably because she was a little busy with Corypheus. She dashed off on her limber legs and picked up her staff on the way. Katria followed her into battle, not hesitating or bothering to say a prayer, because she knew they would emerge victorious. 

===

Ellana defeated Corypheus. His dragon. Saved Thedas from the very brink of destruction and almost made it look easy. Their enemy for so long was reduced to a pile of ash, swept away by the frigid wind as they went falling back to the ground. 

As soon as the Breach was closed, massive stones began dropping all around them. The Inquisitor and her companions staggered around, falling fast as the air whistled around them. When they finally made impact, Katria was throw off her feet and into a pile of rubble. 

It took her a few moments to gain her bearings. She figured she was supposed to be happy that this was all over, but she was bleeding from her side and coated in a thick layer of dust and ash. As she coughed and tried to stand, she heard the click of stones nearby. 

Her fist wiped the grit from one eye. Solas was bent over Corypheus’ orb, cradling the broken pieces with a sorrow and reverence he never gave to Ellana. 

Ellana was a little higher up the steps. “Solas?” she said. 

He looked over his shoulder at her, still crouching. “The orb.” 

She was silent for a few moments, brow furrowed in confusion like Katria’s. Her thoughts were probably more eloquent, but Katria wondered why the fuck he cared about some broken relic so much. 

“I know you wanted the orb saved,” Ellana eventually said. “I’m sorry.” 

Solas stood with his shoulders slumped. “It is not your fault.” 

Ellana’s lips tightened. “There’s more, isn’t there? Something you aren’t telling me.” 

He made an exasperated sound. “It was not supposed to happen this way.” 

“You owe me an explanation,” Ellana replied, voice sharper. “If this—if you were a larger part of this than you admitted before, I deserve to know. You kissed me, you asked for my companionship, and then you abandoned me.”

Solas looked forlorn. “You are right to be angry,” he said softly, then he lifted his head. “I hope, in time, you will understand.” 

Ellana stepped closer. A scowl cut across her dirt-stained face. “That’s not good enough. If you respected me, you would tell me the truth. If I’m as wonderful as you said, I deserve to be treated better.” 

“I did the best that I could,” he insisted. “What we had was _real_.” 

Ellana threw her hand out. “There was _nothing_ real about us, Solas,” she snapped. “You have always cared more about yourself and your secret agenda than you ever cared about me. Whatever you are doing, you don’t have to give up, but these secrets you keep make this sad act of yours a farce.” 

He clenched his hand. “I did not want to be in love-,” 

“And you weren’t,” Ellana cut in. “You stand before me lamenting about _us_ but you’re going to leave right now, aren’t you?” 

“I do not have a choice,” he replied. 

Ellana gave a derisive snort. “You always have a choice,” she said. “But what we had wasn’t real, so you’re leaving now. Without another word. Without the truth. _Real_ love is sticking around, even when it’s hard. It’s owning up to your mistakes and being _honest_ because you trust me enough. I loved you, Solas, which means I would have done anything for you, even if I never got what I wanted in return. You can’t say the same.”

Ellana shut her mouth and the muscles in her body lost their tension. She glanced over her shoulder; Katria perked up in surprise because their eyes met. What they had was real, Katria wanted to say, but she didn’t because Solas spoke again. 

He sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re selfish,” she spat. “Good riddance.” 

Ellana spun on her heel and clopped down the stairs. Katria was there, holding her side, and she stopped. Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly before she let out a breath. 

“I shouldn’t have called you selfish,” Ellana said. “You’re not.” 

“T-Thank you,” Katria began—she was a bit delirious from battle, maybe also confused because she’d had one too many sentimental conversations as of late. “I mean-,”  
Ellana ran her hand through her tangled hair. “You can stay. In Skyhold. With the Inquisition. With Cullen.” 

“With you,” Katria said. 

Ellana smiled only slightly before pitching forward and hugging her. Katria was frozen for a moment before she returned the gesture with both hands; she squeezed as tight as she could manage. 

Katria lifted her head and saw Solas standing underneath the archway, watching them with the same sad expression. She lifted her hands, middle fingers up in an obscene gesture Josephine would balk at. 

“Katria,” Ellana muttered with a warning tone. 

She lowered her hands. “Sorry. He deserves it.” 

Ellana separated from her and turned. Solas was gone, and so was the orb. Her eyes were sad, though she tried to sound nonchalant as she spoke. “I don’t need him,” she said. “I have a family here, and I can’t always guarantee that some days I won’t be…upset with you, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave. You always had good intentions.” 

Katria smiled before another voice called out to them. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra exclaimed. “Are you alive?” 

“I’m fine,” Ellana assured her as they walked down what remained of the stairs. Katria followed her, and was maybe a little less fine because her hand was sticky from the blood that had soaked through her armor. But she’d live, and that was what mattered. 

Cass looked up at the sky where the Breach was open no longer—only a blue and green flexing pattern of light against the stars was left in its place. 

“What do we do now?” she asked. 

Ellana let her shoulders fall slightly, the weight of their fight finally lifted, at least a little. She glanced over at Katria and her lip ticked up in a grin.

“We go home, to Skyhold.” 

Katria smiled back because the fact that Skyhold was home was true for her now too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters remain! I'm sad to be at the end of this story, but glad to be ending it happily! :D


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

The soldiers on the battlements of Skyhold spotted the Inquisitor and her party approaching the castle. The news caused everyone to gather in the courtyard, waiting expectantly, jubilant because they had all seen the Breach above them close. Together a collective sigh of relief left the Inquisition. Perhaps Cullen most of all. 

He had seen Ellana and her companions before his men had. The minute it was over, and they knew Corypheus was defeated, Cullen could not be torn away from waiting. Waiting on the battlements for Katria to come back, searching through the fog in the mountains for any sign of them. He wanted a real conversation with her that wasn’t so harried. Where he wasn’t frantically blurting out his feelings because the alternative had been Katria dying and never knowing how he felt.

But she hadn’t died. At least, that is what the raven Ellana had sent said. Her note assured them that everyone was in good health. Cullen would not believe it until he saw it.

They gathered officially at dusk. Cullen had hidden in his office or along the battlements most of the day because Josephine spent the afternoon preparing for a big party of which he wanted no part of. He just wanted to see Katria walk through the courtyard, safe.

More and more people began clustering together to greet the Inquisitor the closer they got. Cullen and the other advisers met on the stairs, watching torches being lit upon the path, illuminating the jovial faces of the soldiers and servants and villagers relieved their trial was over. 

The chatter of voices was replaced by cheers as the portcullis was pulled open. He saw the Inquisitor’s slender frame first, then her hair and her proud face the further she marched along the path. Cullen could not help but smile at the excitement, but—

But _still_ he could not see Katria. 

There were others. Dorian, waving like some preened socialite and insufferably pleased with himself. Cassandra stoic but still proud. Bull raucous and loud with a tankard somehow already in his hand. What if Katria was alive, but injured? Unconscious? Something worse? 

He heard a giggle beside him. “Cullen, she’s right there.” 

He jerked to attention and turned to Leliana, who regarded him with an arched brow. 

“What?” he said. 

She pointed down as she repeated herself. “Katria? The woman you’re so desperately looking for? Right there.” 

His eyes followed her arm, then fell on Katria, obscured slightly by the shadows of the torches. She was walking forward with the others, but slowly. She lingered near the back with the flaps of her coat wrapped around her torso. Her hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and she tried to push some of it behind her ear. 

Cullen could not call to her over the cheering, but eventually she looked up. Her bow-shaped mouth split into a bright smile that made it dangerous for him to be standing on a ledge like he was. His knees buckled a little, and if not for his need to turn around and address the Inquisitor, he surely would have fallen over. 

Ellana hurried up the steps, probably eager to get out of the spotlight and somewhere warm. Cullen, like the others, bowed to her. Although he was no good with words, he hoped he genuinely conveyed his respect for her. More than respect, even—she’d proven beyond his wildest dreams an ability to lead the Inquisition to victory against all odds.

Ellana passed them to peer down at the crowd and wave; she never looked small in that state, despite her stature. Leliana saddled up beside her. 

“A moment, my lady.” 

Ellana met her gaze and nodded. Leliana gestured her up the stairs, but Ellana paused to look at him. 

“There’s a very stubborn and somewhat intolerable woman down there who has some good news for you, Commander,” she said. 

Cullen smiled slightly. “Thank you, Inquisitor.” 

Ellana just waved her hand in response and accompanied Leliana up the stairs. Josephine was quick to follow because as always there was more to do in relation to their party. The Inquisitor’s other companions passed by him, all eager to get to the Great Hall to celebrate. 

Cullen waited for them to disappear before he jogged down the lower set of stairs to the ground. He watched Katria the whole way as she rounded the curved path to him. 

She was still smiling, her normally ruddy cheeks even redder from the cold. Her eyes looked bright in the darkness. “Told you I would come back,” she said. 

Cullen grinned stupidly and had no coherent words, so he pitched forward and pulled her into a warm embrace. Katria buried her face in the space between his neck and his fur coat, clinging back just as tightly. Her breath was warm against his cold skin.

“Ellana let me stay,” she whispered. 

Cullen buried his nose in her hair. He assumed that was what the Inquisitor meant a moment ago, but his heart soared hearing it. Katria, in Skyhold. With _him_. He could eat meals with her and watch her from the courtyard in the mornings and maybe even fall asleep with her some nights. “I know. I know.” 

His hands cradled her face and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said softly. “And every day after this.” 

She gave a short laugh. “In front of all these people?” 

Cullen shrugged—yes, there were others milling around them, but why should that stop him? 

“They’re heading to the party or the tavern. Not paying attention to us.” 

“You think that, but-,” 

He kissed her more passionately than was appropriate and trapped the rest of her words between them. She smiled against his lips, leaning into him with her arms around his waist. 

Cullen barely managed to pry himself from her, but he had to breathe eventually. Katria spoke before he could, her breath tickling his cheek. 

“We should go to the party.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t want to go in order to avoid having a conversation with me, would you?” 

Katria pecked his cheek. “I love talking to you, but I’ve been traveling for days and have heard rumors that there will be tiny cakes _and_ liquor just up the stairs.” She took his hand and led him that way. “Plus, you might be less prone to _declarations_ if we’re in a public space.” 

Declarations of love, she probably meant. He climbed up with her. “I hate parties.”

“Me too,” she said, as she squeezed his hand. “But we have a damn good reason to celebrate.” 

Cullen jogged up the extra steps separating them and squeezed her shoulder. Corypheus defeated, his relationship stable, Katria safe. Yes, he had plenty of reasons to celebrate. 

He smiled at her. “We certainly do.” 

=== 

Katria had made fitting tiny cakes onto her plate a precise science. She knew just how to stack them to get the maximum number per serving. She would prefer to just stand next to the display and eat them right off the table, but Josephine frowned upon such things. 

Cake, excellent brandy, a handsome man to make eye contact with across the room and make silly faces at. Things were _great_. 

Or maybe just good, and Katria was choosing not to acknowledge what she could do to make it great. Though knowing her, she’d mess it up somehow.

Katria washed down her final cakes with a sip of brandy. She leaned against a nearby table watching the others celebrate. The air was warm and dense—filled with the smells of meat and sugar and alcohol, tinged with loud laughter and the clap of feet against the stone. Cullen was standing nearby, back straight, hand on his sword, conversing with some of his soldiers. 

He was looking at her from the corner of his eye, and she gazed down at the liquid amber of her drink, blushing. 

The table creaked beside her as someone else put their weight against it. “I should thank you for winning me _so_ much coin, my dear. My insight is truly extraordinary when it comes to your love life.” 

Katria crossed her arms and threw a glare in Dorian’s direction. “You just know everything about romance, don’t you?” 

“It’s not so hard,” he replied, then lifted his glass to gesture at Cullen. “Look at your Commander. The way he gazes at you from across the room. So doting and romantic. It’s disgusting.” 

Katria laughed. “Dorian!” 

He raised his hand. “It _is_. Cullen—he’s one of those eager yellow puppies, yapping about his love for you.” 

“And what does that make me?” she asked. 

“An older and angry wet cat?” he suggested and she playfully thwacked him. 

“Thank you for that lovely image,” she said. “But I don’t need anyone _else_ to tell me that I’m utterly incompetent at romance.” 

“Or so you say,” Dorian replied as he sipped his drink. “Because it’s easier to say you’re bad at this then just own up and express your feelings.” 

Katria stared down at her boots. “I don’t know if I’m in love. Or what love is. Or if Cullen and I could even _work_ after everything that’s happened.” 

“Valid concerns that should absolutely keep you paralyzed with fear of doing anything or living your life,” Dorian remarked. 

She huffed. “You know, I don’t see you running over to Bull professing your love.” 

He shrugged. “That’s because I don’t love him. We are casual acquaintances.” 

Katria put her glass down on the table. “You didn’t let me get away with that at the Winter Palace, so it’s not going to work here.” 

“I will be frank with you,” Dorian said, as he turned to face her. 

She snorted. “I’m sorry, is that not what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

He leaned forward. “You have been through so much pain to get here. Physical and emotional both. Most people who are imprisoned in our dungeons _twice_ don’t come back and risk their lives to be a part of the Inquisition again.” 

“I like it here,” she muttered. 

“You love it here,” Dorian corrected. “You also love Cullen. Who is here. And Ellana. But in a different way. Or maybe not. I would find it far more interesting if-,” 

“I get it!” Katria cut in exasperatedly. “I get it and I will talk to Cullen. Maker.”

Dorian drained his drink. “Try and do it soon. I win a few more coppers from Varric if you two consummate your new relationship tonight. It has been quite a few months hasn’t it?” 

Katria groaned. “Oh Maker’s _balls_ , you two need to find a hobby.” 

“I rather like what I do now, thank you.” 

She looked mournfully down at her empty glass, but rather than refilling it, decided she’d had enough for the evening. Of alcohol and Dorian. And enough of not being with Cullen. 

“You are the absolute worst,” she said. “Worst—friend.” Still friend. 

Dorian just smirked and waved as she walked away. Katria bundled herself up against the cold by wrapping her jacket tighter around her. Her side was bandaged pretty liberally, but the pain still radiated out. Mostly from the bruise she’d gotten in addition to the wound. 

The courtyard was still bustling—things were a bit more sloppy now that a few hours had passed and ale had flown freely from the tavern. Katria crossed through the grass and up to the battlements. It was darker there, and only a few unlucky guards were on patrol. Cullen being ever vigilant. 

She circled around to her room. Rather than going inside, she peered down into the garden. Her hip leaned against the stone lip of the balcony until she heard footsteps. 

Cullen appeared, trying desperately to look nonchalant. “Um, hello, I-,” 

Katria smiled slightly. “You followed me.” 

“It’s not as if I was enjoying the party,” he replied as he stopped in front of her. 

She scrutinized him. “You’re not wearing your armor.” 

His face flushed red. “Well, I—I thought that…” 

“You thought it would be _so_ much easier to have sex with me wearing a tunic and pants as opposed to a giant metal cocoon.” 

Cullen scrubbed his brow. “Maker’s breath.” 

“Are you going to try and tell me that’s not true?” she asked with an amused expression. 

He lifted his head. “No,” he admitted, then he put his arms around her and gathered her close to him. Rather than kiss her, he nestled his head against hers and stroked her hair. She let her weight fall mostly against him in return. 

“You weren’t hurt badly in the battle, were you?” he asked. 

“I’ll live,” she said. 

Cullen leaned back. “I know that,” he replied. “But I asked if you were hurt.” 

Katria shifted in his arms. “A little.” 

He sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done if…anything had happened to you.” 

“Been sad, maybe,” she remarked with a shrug. “At least a little.” 

Cullen brushed her stray hair from her temple. His hand lingered, and his eyes searched her face. “I’ve never really been in a normal relationship before,” he said. “Not in Kirkwall, and certainly not in Ferelden.” 

“Is that what this is?” she asked. 

“I—I hope so,” he replied with a swallow. 

Katria fiddled with the open flap of his tunic, letting it consume all her attention. “You’ll have to patient with me.” 

He grinned. “I’ve been doing that all along.” 

She huffed, brow lowered. “If I’m so bad-,” 

“You’re not bad, Katria,” he said quickly as his hands moved to her waist. “You’re sharp and funny. Kind underneath all that-,” 

She put her palms against his chest. “Oh—oh, alright. I understand. Nice compliments, very romantic. You can stop.” 

He was trying not to smile too widely. “One more?” 

“What could you _possibly_ have to add to-,” 

“I love you.” 

Katria was silent for a few moments, her jaw sticking mulishly out. “That wasn’t a compliment,” she muttered.

Cullen shuffled forward slightly with his lips hovering above hers. “I just can’t please you, can I?” 

“I remember a _few_ times in the past when I was reasonably satisfied,” she remarked.

He closed the space between them; his warm mouth sent shivers down her spine as he tilted his head and leaned into her. Katria’s hand slid into his hair, raking the ends between her fingers. 

His arms tightened around her more, and she pulled away before his grip became any tighter—he probably was not aware of the extent of her injury, and she didn’t exactly want him to find out. 

She kissed him briefly on the lips before she spoke. “Come to my room,” she said. 

Cullen, licking his lips with pupils wide, walked her back to her door and opened it. They slipped inside; her eyes adjusted to the dark quicker than his. Only one candle burned on her bedside table. She felt Cullen’s hand at the curve of her waist and then lower. She froze and hissed in pain. 

“Katria?” he said immediately. Before she could protest, he had lifted up the end of her tunic. “Maker, you said-,” 

“Oh it’s fine,” she insisted. “Same wound from before. Plus or minus a bruise or two.” 

“This is why I told you not to go out there in the first place,” Cullen said petulantly. 

Katria took the edge of her shirt from him and pulled it over her head. Cullen’s eyes darted down, but he was not one to be tempted when he did not want to be. “I saved Ellana’s life,” she said. “So the wound is well worth it.” 

She ran her long fingers down his chest. “You’ll just have to be gentle with me. Can you manage that, Commander?” 

He hesitated. “We shouldn’t-,” 

She cut him off with a kiss, and he gave a small groan. Rather than put his hands back on her waist, he tugged down her breast band as she unlaced his breeches. 

Katria went to sit down, trying to be slow. She bit the inside of her cheek because it still hurt a little, but then Cullen took off his shirt, and she was distracted. 

He leaned over her, knees sliding onto the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

Katria laid on her back on the bed as he climbed over her. Her hands traced the muscles on his chest; she reached his stomach after hearing each of his boots thunk against the stone floor. 

“Quit worrying,” she said, and he dipped down to press their mouths together. He did not put all his weight on her, instead he leaned forward on his palms. She did not mind so much because she could explore the muscles on his arms that were tense from holding him up. 

Cullen eventually lowered onto his elbows. His hips pressed more flush against her, rolling up and back and making her groan. Katria wiggled out of her breeches and then crawled under the covers. He followed her and she sighed contently when she realized he’d divested himself of his pants and small clothes too, his warm cock sliding down her stomach and resting between her legs as he settled over her. It was much more…intimate with them wrapped in the sheets together. The warmth radiating from his body was comforting.

“I’ve never had sex under blankets,” she remarked when he came up for air after a long kiss he’d drawn from her. “Or gently, for that matter.” 

His teeth flashed in the candlelight. “I’ve never been with a woman who talks so much when we’re about to have sex.” 

Her hands trailed from his stubble to his matted hair. “I’m sorry. Would you prefer me to just wantonly moan?” 

Cullen kissed her down her neck, and she bit her lip because the way his teeth grazed her sensitive skin _did_ make her want to moan a little. “You can talk,” he murmured. “I like your voice.” 

She whispered to him like she was sharing a secret. “Do you want me to talk dirty to you, Commander?” 

Cullen shifted his weight, still careful about keeping his torso off hers. His cock throbbed between them, and his hips arched in for a moment, but he didn’t do anything else. “I never said that.” 

She pretended to gasp and grabbed his broad shoulders. “Oh, Commander _please_!” she moaned in the voice she reserved for imitating noble ladies. “Please fuck me! My little body _aches_ for you. Fill my dripping cunt with your meaty-,” 

He started laughing, a few huffs that burst out of him before he blushed. “Maker, Katria.” 

She giggled. “I thought you liked my voice.” 

“I want to hear you say _other_ things,” he said hoarsely. He shifted again, more sharply this time, his fingers sinking down into the sheets at her head. He was going to burst if he didn’t get what he wanted; she might too. “Are you okay with…” 

Katria sucked in her bottom lip again and nodded. He pushed himself into her and a groan escaped her; his first few thrusts were hard, rocking all the way through her, like he’d suddenly remembered how desperately he loved being with her. 

He slowed down and gave a hurried apology after her nails dug hard into the muscles on his back. His heavy breaths were trapped in his throat as he pressed his forehead against hers. She could barely make out his features in the candlelight, but they were too familiar for her not to know them even in the darkness. The slope of his nose, the place where his prickly stubble gave way to the smooth skin of his cheek. Things she had observed for so long without really thinking he could be a permanent part of her life. 

“Oh, Cullen,” she whispered, and then she brought his mouth clumsily against hers; their tongues made up for the lack of passion in the slow, agonizing cadence of his hips. 

He was gentle with her, like he probably should be, no matter how badly Katria wanted to be pinned down to the bed and fucked. Even as she arched her back, and Cullen captured her breast in his mouth, pain crawled up her side. It was nothing compared to the pleasure he stoked in her core, so she grabbed his shoulders and rucked up against him. 

There was sweat gathering on his upper lip, and Cullen grabbed her thigh when her legs tightened around him. His eyes cracked open, and he looked down at her with an intensity that made her heart stutter. 

“I—,” Cullen cut himself off with a sharp moan. “Maker…” 

Katria kissed him with her hands cradling his face. “You can say it, Cullen,” she whispered. 

“I love you,” he said breathlessly. “Katria, I love you _so_ much.” 

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against him. She thought about—well, she don’t know what crossed her mind because every inch of her body prickled white hot a moment later. Her mouth dropped open, and she threw her head back against the pillow.

Katria finished and hardly noticed him panting into her shoulder, his fingers biting in her skin with a final thrust. He groaned and collapsed a little before he caught himself. His lips pressed a few kisses into her shoulder. 

She ran her hand up his bicep and noticed it was trembling. “Having trouble holding yourself up?” 

Cullen caught his breath, then snorted and rolled off her onto his back. “I’m very strong I’ll have you know.” 

Katria snuggled up to him. “I know.” 

He rolled onto his side and rested his hand on the slope of her shoulder. “Is it alright if I stay?” he asked softly, searching her eyes with such tenderness she was surprised she didn’t squeal her approval before he even finished his sentence. 

She looked at him and pulled the covers up to her chin. The thought of waking up in the morning with him made her feel surprisingly….warm. “You would stay away from your office for that long, Commander?” 

Cullen scooted over and draped his arm across her, his head nestled in her shoulder. “For you I would,” he murmured. “Tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps other nights we could…”

 _Other nights_. There would be other nights for them. Other days. Him finding her in the middle of the morning to hug her and pull her onto her toes. Scribbling out tiny notes, hers probably crude and his much more professional.

When she left Skyhold on a mission, Cullen would be waiting for her. There would be someone in the world who _cared_ about what happened to her. Cared if she came back. 

She curled around to him and put her arm on his bare back. It hurt a little to lay on her side, but she wanted to be close to him. “You make me so happy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.” 

“I thought we had a rule about apologies,” he replied.

She ran her hand gently across his hair. “I only want you to know that I-,” She sighed. “I’m not good at any of this, but I will be loyal to you until the very end. I swear. All I want is for you to be happy.” 

He turned his head so he could see her better. His fingers captured the edge of her chin. “I am happy right now, in this bed with you.” 

“Really?” she said, but then her voice cracked, and she hated that her glistening eyes were probably still visible in the low light.

He smiled wanly. “ _Yes_ , Katria. Really. You make me happy.”

She scooted closer to him and curled up to his chest, kissing his skin there before resting against him. “I feel the same way.” 

He tightened his hold on her and let out a content sigh. “Goodnight, Katria.” 

Katria smiled slightly against him, and whispered something she’d never said to any man in all her life. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! One more chapter. Hope y'all have enjoyed the happiness!


	37. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! This epilogue is just a little drabble, but hope ya'll enjoyed!

The glances that Katria threw towards the battlements were in vain. Her eyes repeatedly darted up from the courtyard, squinting in the early morning sun, but still she knew Cullen was not there. Had not been there for almost three weeks because he’d left Skyhold on Inquisition business. Her mechanical movement was some slim hope that he would return sooner than he promised. He was, after all, never on time—Cullen was so punctual that he always arrived early. 

Katria was loathe to admit that she missed him. It made her feel a little silly that in any given letter she wrote she could express how disappointed she was every morning when he wasn’t beside her. Or how her heart felt like it was missing a piece, a gaping hole maybe, because she couldn’t burst into his office whenever she wanted to put her hands on his prickly jaw and kiss him. 

Things had been alright between them so far. Great, even. Excellent. She’d never felt better in her entire life and didn’t want to give a second of thought to how she would feel if they did not work out. Of course, maybe the chances of that were slim—Cullen had told her he loved her. Looked at her liked he loved her. Kissed her like he loved her. So there was no reason to think something would go wrong. Except that Katria had not exactly verbally reciprocated her feelings. Those stupid words that were supposed to mean something important, except that she already did everything to show it. 

Dorian harassed her endlessly. So did Cassandra and Varric because for whatever reason her friends knew _entirely_ too much about her personal life and had very strong opinions about her reluctance to express her love. Cullen did not seem to care as much, or he didn’t say anything about it. Only kissed her cheek and told her he loved her before slipping out the door in the mornings. He never waited. 

He should wait, so she could say it. Except she couldn’t seem to say it.

The good news was that Cullen would be back soon. And safe. In the months since Ellana had defeated Corypheus, the world as a whole had been fairly peaceful, save for the ruckus caused by Leliana being appointed Divine. Cullen was doing his duty by visiting the fortresses Ellana had acquired in their travels, like any good Commander. 

“Did I do that right?” 

Katria’s neck snapped back around to the sparring ring where a hopeful recruit looked at her with sword in hand. She scratched her cheek. 

“Looked great.” 

The soldier beamed, then turned back around. Katria tried to _actually_ watch them this time in order to discern whether her lie was accurate or not. She had just put her elbows against the wood rails in front of her when someone hurried up to her. 

“Katria, my dear,” Dorian said. 

She turned her head to look at him. Her brow furrowed slightly when she noticed that his face was stoic and lacking his trademark impish grin. “Is everything okay?” 

He handed her a folded piece of parchment. “Harding asked me to give this to you. Apparently Cullen encountered some trouble on his way to Skyhold.” 

“Trouble?” she repeated with a hollow voice, before she snatched the letter from him and unfolded it. Maker, she _knew_ she should have tried harder to accompany him on his travels. 

Dorian nodded. “A particularly vengeful group of Venatori had been tracking them and then attacked. Cullen had mentioned before he left that he had to bring more men along to wipe out the last of Corypheus’ troops.” 

Her eyes frantically scanned the letter. It was terse like most reports they received from the field. 

_Two units from Crestwood ambushed by Venatori. Casualties sustained. Commander wounded. Immediate supplies and aid requested._

“He’s injured,” she said, even as panic gripped her throat. 

“Badly,” Dorian replied, and Katria made an exasperated sound. She crinkled the letter in her fist before stuffing it into her pocket. 

“I—I have to go,” she said. “If he’s— _Maker_.” 

“There’s no reason for you to rush out there. I’m sure he’s fine,” Dorian assured her. 

Katria ran her hand through her hair. “I’m not just going to sit around and wait for more news. Not when I can help. Not if he’s…” She shook the poisonous thought from her mind with a sharp shake of her head. “I’m going to ask Harding about their last location. If she doesn’t haven’t, I’ll just follow the road. Quickly.” 

She slipped past Dorian, ignoring his protests, and hurried across the courtyard. After all these good months, it wasn’t fair that something was going wrong. She was supposed to have all the time in the world to tell Cullen what he needed to hear. What if she’d run out of time? 

===

Cullen heard the rapid clip of horses’ hooves from just outside the camp. He ignored it at first, staring down at the report in his hand; one of his scouts must have arrived back, or maybe another trade caravan had come to exchange supplies. 

Someone called his name, but he hardly had enough time to recognize the voice before a pair of arms was practically tackling him from behind. He staggered forward, muscles tense. 

The person circled around, still holding tight to his jacket. “Cullen, are you—how…” 

His eyes met Katria’s blue ones, and he broke into a smile. “Katria? What are you doing here?” 

Her fingers clenched in his fur. “Are you alright?” she demanded. “You’re standing and you…you…” She inspected him. “You look fine.” 

He pushed some of her hair from her temple. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?” 

“Dorian gave me a letter,” she said. “It…It said you were hurt.” She rifled through her pocket and yanked it out. “Why aren’t you hurt?” 

Cullen took the parchment from her as he spoke with his brow furrowed. “We _did_ encounter some Venatori, but we made quick work of them.” He scanned the letter then snorted. “This is Dorian’s handwriting.” 

“Wha— _what_?” she snapped, then retrieved it from him. As she looked at it again, her face fell. “Maker, I should have known this was one of their dumb tricks.” She stamped her foot against the wet ground. “This is not something to joke about! I was—I was really…”

A smile tugged at his lip. “Concerned about me?” 

Katria huffed. “Don’t—look like _that_ about it.” 

He put his hands on her arms while his smug look intensified. “You missed me. You were afraid I was hurt.” 

“I was not,” she replied petulantly. She tried to wiggle in his grip, but he did not let go of her. Not when he was being given the chance to touch her for the first time in weeks. “This was just some dumb stunt by Dorian.”

Cullen cocked an eyebrow. “What was his goal, exactly?” 

Katria flushed red. “Well, I—I mean, he’s been on this kick about my feelings lately.” 

He released her to pick up the report he’d dropped on the ground and gestured her over to his tent for some real privacy and perhaps even some real expressions of affection to show her how much he missed her. His ears burned red thinking of it. 

“Dorian is trying to zero in on something as elusive as your _feelings_?” 

Her arm flew out and playfully smacked his arm. She ducked under the flap of his tent, and as soon as he followed her, she wrapped her hands in his coat and brought their lips together.

Cullen was kissing her back before the flap had even fallen back to the ground to cover them. His hands traced the curve of her waist up as he pulled her to his breastplate. She hummed against him and slid her hand up to his jaw. He was glad he could kiss her however he wanted in the privacy of his tent. 

“I have feelings, you know,” she said softly once they separated. “I missed you, for instance.” 

“I missed you too,” he murmured. “Is that what Dorian wanted you to admit?” 

Katria sighed. “He was just trying to get me to admit that I love you,” she explained. “I assume he and Varric conspired to make me think you were in mortal peril, so I'd suddenly realize my feelings or some nonsense.” 

He cleared his throat. “It didn’t…do that?”

“Of course not,” she replied, which just made Cullen smile and shake his head. “Wait,” she said quickly. “I mean, it’s not because I—the scenario is just absurd. I don’t think about the fact that I love you when you’re hurt. I was thinking about what kind of injury you could have, how to dress wounds, what healer you brought along with you.” 

“Surprisingly practical,” Cullen remarked.

“I can be practical,” she said, then shifted awkwardly. “That’s not to say I don’t—I mean, I am often reminded of my love for you. But it’s when I see you in the morning, or when you have that dumb smile on your face after you kiss me. Or when I think about the fact that when all this is over, we…can still be together.”

He traced the line of her cheekbone. “I love you too, Katria.” 

She bit her lip, cheeks redder than before. “Unfortunately for you Commander, I didn’t say that,” she said. “I merely _implied_ it.” 

“My mistake,” he replied with a grin. He gently kissed her again and nuzzled his head against hers. “I’m just glad you’re here.” 

Katria sharply exhaled. “You could be upset about it. You could _demand_ that I say it.” 

“I’m not sure that would accomplish anything,” he said. “All that matters is how you feel, not what you say. You’re loyal and wonderful, Kat. They’re only words.” 

She paused for a moment, searching his eyes as they were inches apart with an expression he could not read. “That was…surprisingly articulate.” 

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Cullen admitted. 

Katria pressed her forehead against his shoulder. “Maker, I...I have too,” she said. “And I do. I love you.” She stiffened a little after saying it, her face still buried in his coat.

He pressed his lips together to hide a smile. He had distanced himself for so long from the hope that she would say it he hardly knew what to do. “Forgive me,” he said. “This infernal fur coat impairs my hearing sometimes. Could you repeat that?” 

Katria leaned back to look at him with a small laugh. Her hand rose to his jaw. “I love you, Cullen. You serious, obstinate, inflexible Templar.” 

“Not a Templar,” he reminded her. 

Katria wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “Thank the Maker for that,” she muttered.

Cullen nestled his nose in her wind-swept hair. Her words as they’d left her lips made his heart hammer in his ribcage. He had the stupidest smile on his face, he knew that, but at the same time, nothing felt different. He’d known all along the way she felt, even if she did not want to call it love. Katria was always there for him, always compassionate, always pushing him to be his best even as he looked back at his life and hated what he saw. She loved him, and those words were glorious, but so was everything else about their relationship that didn’t center around what they said to one another. 

Cullen squeezed her tight. “I suppose Dorian has won some coin now that you’ve uttered those dreaded words.” 

She grinned. “Not if we don’t _tell_ him about it.” She paused and ran her thumb underneath his lip. “Though the look on your face might give it away.” 

“I can be discreet,” he said, except he knew that wasn’t true. 

Katria’s brows drew together in a thoughtful expression. “I don’t want that,” she said. “There’s no reason for us—for me—to hide how I feel.” 

“I agree,” Cullen said, and then he kissed her, hard and insistent to prove she did not have to hide anything because he would never hurt her again. Instead he’d tell her he loved her every day and show it in a million better ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My journey into Cullen romance land began almost a year ago when I published the first chapter of my first story. Since then, according to my stats page, I've written 425,000 words on two dorks who won't leave my creative mind alone. I've always been a writer, but never have I produced so many words or works in such a small amount of time. A huge part of that is because of you all, my wonderful readers. You keep me motivated and passionate, and I am so grateful for each and every one of you. I applaud those of you who have been able to tolerate Katria for not one, but three stories, and I literally can't express my thanks to those of you who have stuck with me. Excuse my long-winded way of saying: I love you all, and thank you!! 
> 
> While this story may be over, I have not exhausted my engines yet! I have in the works a sequel to my original story, Are We Having Fun Yet, that will cover the events of the Trespasser DLC. I've also been playing Fallout 4, so if some of y'all are fans, I will probably be moving into that realm too! Dragon Age still holds the most special place in my heart, though. 
> 
> If you want to chat with me or get updates about my writing, [here](http://ces479.tumblr.com/) is my Tumblr! I love meeting new people, especially Cullen fans ;)


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